A Glimmer Of Gold
by M. Scott Eiland
Summary: COMPLETE! After an unexpected meeting with Oliver Wood and Viktor Krum results in a plan for the most anticipated Quidditch match in years, Harry finds himself having unexpected feelings about a close friend.
1. Ch 1

Summary: After an unexpected meeting with Oliver Wood and Viktor Krum results in a plan for the most anticipated Quidditch match in years, Harry finds himself having unexpected feelings about a close friend.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters portrayed here, they remain the property of their respective owners/creators.

Rating: PG-13, for violence, intensity, and general themes.

Time Frame: Post "Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix"—the summer between Harry's fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts.

Archiving: Be my guest, but e-mail me ) to let me know. . .I like to know where stuff I write ends up and I might want to see what else you've got.

A GLIMMER OF GOLD

Chapter One

Harry frowned at the initial description of the method for transfiguring a sword into a viper, and quickly scribbled a few sentences in the spiral notebook in front of him. He had grown accustomed over the years to using quills and parchment, but even after all this time, it was faster to use a ballpoint pen and paper.

When Harry had arrived back at 4 Privet Drive with the Dursleys, they had promptly disregarded his existence from that moment on. He was free to come and go as he chose, and on the rare occasions that they came within sight of each other, no words were exchanged. Harry had simply retrieved food at times when they weren't around, but that particular problem ceased to exist on the morning of his second day back, when an owl had come bearing a small package with a note attached to it. He accepted the package and paid and fed the owl, which hooted cheerfully and flew off. The package contained a miniature picnic basket, and the note was short and to the point:

_Dear Harry,_

_This basket contains a week's worth of healthy meals. Just touch your wand to the basket and use the Engorgio Charm—I'm told by Professor Dumbledore that this will not trigger any owls from the Underage Use of Magic Office. _

_The dishes are charmed to reveal whether the person receiving this basket is actually eating the meals or not, so please do, Harry. When the week is over, put the dishes back in the basket and use the Shrinking Charm on it, then send the basket back with Hedwig—I'll send another one. If I see that you're not eating, I'll send Tonks and Mad-Eye over to make sure you do. You may have to live with those awful Muggles for another summer, but I'm not going to see you starve._

_Hope to see you soon,_

_Molly Weasley_

Harry had tried to summon genuine irritation at being dictated to, but it was hard to get angry with someone for making sure that he was adequately fed. He had followed the directions and found he was in possession of a basket containing twenty-one _very_ healthy meals. _I'd better put a vigorous exercise routine on my schedule—a couple of months of this and I'll be as fat as Dudley_

Harry had decided that as long as the Dursleys weren't going to work him to death this summer, he would put the time to good use. He had owled Professor McGonagall and asked for the titles of the sixth year texts for Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions—though he hadn't received his O.W.L. scores yet, he was confident he would qualify for N.E.W.T. level classes in the first two, and a head start couldn't hurt on the third, just in case his score was high enough to place him under Professor Snape's tender mercies for another two years. He had been surprised when a delivery owl had arrived two days later with the texts themselves and a couple of smaller books that Harry recognized as texts on dueling written by famous Aurors. The note from Professor McGonagall explained that the textbooks had been sent compliments of the Ministry of Magic—and that the dueling texts were from Mad-Eye Moody, who had included his own note: "Nice to see you haven't let misfortune get in the way of business, Potter—you might find these useful. If you finish these, owl me and I'll send you a copy of my own book—you'll find it a lot more bloody useful than anything that fool Lockhart ever wrote. Always remember—Eternal Vigilance!"

Two weeks later, Harry had made it through one of the dueling texts and several chapters of all three textbooks. It was a nuisance not being able to test any of the spells or potions, but Hermione was always telling him that knowing the theory behind the spells before actually trying to cast them helped her do so, and she certainly seemed to get good results. As for Potions, the subject was far less unpleasant without that bastard Snape breathing down his neck, looking to dock points from Gryffindor for every supposed misstep he made. He was about to review a familiar subject—the procedure for brewing a Polyjuice Potion—when he heard a knock at the door. He was prepared to ignore it—the Dursleys were gone and he knew they would not be pleased if he deigned to speak to their "normal" friends or neighbors—but realized that someone from the Order might choose to stop by during the day while the Dursleys were gone to check up on him. He sighed in mild annoyance and called out, "Coming!" as he ran down the stairs and to the front door. He looked through the peephole, blinked, and opened the door to confirm the evidence of his eyes.

"Hello, Harry." Oliver Wood stood on the porch, looking tanned and healthy in muggle jeans and a T-shirt. Standing next to him and wearing similar clothing was Viktor Krum. Harry's jaw dropped, and Wood grinned at him as he commented, "Shouldn't do that, Harry—you never know what might decide to fly in. May we come in? I understand that the Muggles aren't home right now."

Harry closed his mouth, then coughed and suggested, "Why don't we head down the street a ways—I have a neighbor who might be a bit more. . .understanding."

Wood nodded and followed with Krum behind Harry as he led them to Mrs. Figg's house. He knocked, and after a moment Mrs. Figg answered and smiled at the three young men on her porch. "Come in! I received word that I might have some guests this afternoon." Harry, Oliver, and Viktor entered and found seats in the living room, and Mrs. Figg brought them all glasses of pumpkin juice and a tray of small sandwiches before smiling and saying, "I'll let you boys talk in private," and departing.

Harry ignored the sandwiches—knowing that he had a rather large supper to polish off to prevent the wrath of Molly Weasley from descending on him—and looked over at his visitors with a growing sense of confusion before he commented, "It's nice to have visitors—but you two would be just above Cedric and Voldemort as far as people likely to pay me an unexpected friendly visit goes: to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry was surprised when neither man winced at the mention of Voldemort, and listened quietly as Oliver looked over at him and replied, "We've got a proposal for you—but you should read this letter first." He handed a folded piece of parchment to Harry, and Harry opened it and immediately recognized the familiar handwriting:

_Harry,_

_Oliver Wood and Viktor Krum are both members of The Order of The Phoenix, and may be considered trustworthy as far as almost any topic is concerned. They have informed me that they have a proposal for you, and I believe it may help make this summer more bearable to you if you hear them out._

_If you wish to establish their authenticity, I have briefed them on all topics we discussed before the incident at the Ministry._

_Warmest Regards,_

Professor Albus Dumbledore 

Harry blinked, then turned to Oliver without warning and snapped, "Who framed Sirius Black for setting up my parents?"

"Peter Pettigrew—who is alive and well and working for that bastard Voldemort." Oliver's tone was angry, but quickly became more gentle as he added, "I heard about the incident at the Ministry, Harry—I'm sorry about Mr. Black—Professor Dumbledore told us the whole story, and that he had fought valiantly against Voldemort."

Harry nodded, and turned to Viktor. "Who came up with the idea to start the D.A. at Hogwarts this last year?"

"It vas Her-my-oh-knee—but she told me that she couldn't have done it vithout the respect the other students have for you." Viktor's accent was as thick as ever, but Harry noted that he had finally gotten the knack of saying Hermione's name properly. The Bulgarian Seeker looked somewhat embarrassed, then added, "I had heard of her injuries and stopped by her parents' home last veek to see how she was feeling—she told me about the events during this year at Hogvarts, and your fight against. . .that voman." Viktor's eyes flashed with anger, and he added, "I accepted Professor Dumbledore's invitation to join the Order because of vat happened during the Tri-Vizard Tournament—Voldemort used me to help bring his plans into being, and caused me to harm a good man in the process—a man I never had a chance to make amends to."

Harry felt a pang—Cedric's death had grown more distant in his memories, but the mention of it always felt like a kick in the gut to him. "Viktor—Cedric wouldn't have blamed you. Not after Crouch Jr. confessed to using Imperius on you."

Viktor relaxed slightly as he saw the understanding in Harry's eyes, but replied, "Regardless of vether he vould have forgiven me, the debt remains—and I vill do vat I can to serve the cause. It may not be as important as making sure that a whole generation of Hogvarts students has the knowledge needed to fight Voldemort, but vatever it is—I will do it."

Harry flushed slightly, and forced himself to not think about the D.A.—it inevitably led to thoughts of Sirius. He looked at the two older men and commented, "Well, you're not Death Eaters disguised with Polyjuice Potion—they couldn't have managed to say 'Voldemort' without hesitating or stuttering like you just did. What did you want to ask me?"

Oliver and Viktor looked at each other, and Oliver began, "We're both on detached duty for the Order, Harry—neither of us is a trained Auror, healer, or politician. Dumbledore has asked us to keep our eyes and ears open and prepare for the time when a major battle against Voldemort is inevitable. After the events of last month, it occurred to Viktor and I that there was a way we could help in the new climate that would not tip our hand, and which would be excellent for bolstering the morale and strength of the anti-Voldemort forces—and we believe that you could be a vital part of it, Harry."

Harry blinked, and was silent for a moment as he saw the smile on Wood's face before he said, "Go on."

Oliver nodded and continued, "Harry, neither of us is old enough to remember the last war well, but many, many wizards and witches lost their lives, and many more were badly injured. St. Mungo's and the other wizarding hospitals were always strained to the limits, and a lot of young wizards and witches were orphaned—as you have good reason to know." Harry flinched, and Oliver reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder for a moment, concern in his eyes. Harry shrugged and nodded at him, and Oliver continued again, "As you know, I'm the reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United, and Viktor here is the Seeker for the Vrasta Vultures when he isn't playing for Bulgaria in the World Cup. We went to our team owners and suggested that it would be good publicity for our teams and for professional Quidditch in general to hold a charity fundraising game between our teams, with the proceeds being used to create a trust that is dedicated to helping the victims of the upcoming war. If we can get a huge crowd for this one, the receipts for sale of tickets and concessions could exceed one million galleons—and might even convince other teams to do something similar. Better yet, it will get a lot of wizards and witches involved in the fight who would never even think of raising a wand against Voldemort."

Harry smiled. "It sounds like a great idea—but I'm not sure how I can help, Oliver. Did you want me to allow the sale of products using my name? If so, I'd be glad to—I've been giving Fred and George that right, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind sharing it for this—"

Oliver shook his head. "No, Harry—though it wouldn't be a bad idea to expand your personal marketing and donate a share of the proceeds: that would probably produce a lot of galleons for the cause. No, we have a rather more direct role planned for you, Harry. Professor Dumbledore has volunteered the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch for the game—he believes that with proper spellwork, the stands can be expanded sufficiently to hold 150,000 fans. It would be the largest crowd in Quidditch history, if he pulled it off and the game sold out. The game would be scheduled for August 8th—enough time to plan security with the Aurors and to get the word out."

"It still sounds great—but I'm still not getting where I come in." Harry was baffled, and didn't bother to hide it. "Did you want me to make a speech before the game, or referee?"

Oliver chuckled. "Harry—Puddlemere United isn't scheduled to have another league game until September. As it happens, two of our team members have taken the opportunity to plan to get married—to each other. It'll be quite the event, and it is scheduled to take place on August 6th. They'll be off on their honeymoon and completely unavailable for the game—and it's rather hard to play Quidditch when both your starting and reserve Seekers are away. Puddlemere United is in a bit of a fix, and we were hoping you would help us out of it." He reached into a pocket and pulled out another letter, which he handed to Harry. Harry opened it with shaky fingers and read:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It would be a singular honor for myself and for Puddlemere United if you would consent to serve as our Seeker in the charity game between our team and the Vrasta Vultures to be held at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch on August 8th. It is my understanding that you are already the owner of an international standard broom, and we will provide appropriate protective equipment. Please send your reply back with Mr. Wood._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Conrad Walthrop_

_Owner_

_Puddlemere United Quidditch Team_

Harry stared at the letter in disbelief, and his eyes were widening when he remembered the events of the last year and felt as if he had just flown into a tree. He looked at Oliver and mumbled in despair, "I can't—Umbridge banned me from Quidditch for life and took my broom away."

Oliver laughed—a short, angry bark—and replied, "Harry, don't be thick. Do you really think that old hag's proclamations survived the scandal she's in? She'll be lucky to avoid a long sentence in Azkaban, and Fudge is desperate to get back on your good side after a year of treating you like he did. Your ban is lifted, and as for your broom—" He reached into another pocket and called out "Finite Incantatem!"

A small stick in Oliver's hand quickly grew into a very familiar object. Harry accepted it with a dazed look in his eyes, as Oliver reassured him, "It's been checked for hexes and curses and thoroughly cleaned—it's a fine broom, Harry. More than worthy for a game like this."

Harry stared at his beloved Firebolt for several seconds in silence, then frowned in concern and looked back at Oliver. "I haven't flown in months—how am I going to do in a game with top-notch professional Quidditch players?"

Oliver grinned at him. "Harry—you're a born flier, and you'll have a couple of weeks to get back up to speed. Dumbledore tells me you'll be able to leave the Muggles after one more week, and Hogwarts will be a safe place for you to practice. I'm sure Ron, Hermione, and some of your other friends will want to come to see that, and the game itself."

Harry nodded, his head already whirling with what he would tell Ron, and the moves he would practice for the game. He felt a pang of guilt about being this excited when Sirius was still dead, but a thought occurred to him_: Sirius gave you this broom—and Oliver and Viktor are going to help you use it to help beat that bastard Voldemort. Sirius would –love- this. _Harry smiled at the thought, and looked over at Viktor with a grin: "I don't suppose I could get you to go easy on me, eh Viktor?"

Viktor smiled coldly at Harry, though Harry could see amusement in the Bulgarian's eyes as he replied, "I intend to fly you right into the ground, Potter—though I suspect our Beaters vill not maim quite as many opposing players as usual. After all—it is all for charity, is it not?"

"Yeah." Harry managed not to sound nervous as he shook hands with Oliver and Viktor, and began discussing the specifics of the game with them. Unseen by the three friends, Mrs. Figg smiled and went to the fireplace to report the news to Dumbledore: Harry seemed to be doing much better—and Hogwarts was about to play host to one of the most memorable Quidditch games in history.

. . .to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired


	2. Ch 2

Chapter Two

"Please sit down, Harry. Lemon drop?"

Harry shook his head and settled into one of the large easy chairs in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place, across from Professor Dumbledore. The ancient wizard's eyes twinkled in the firelight as he studied Harry and nodded approvingly. "You look well—Professor McGonagall told me you were putting the time to good use, but she apparently understated matters."

Harry nodded absently. The hour long daily workout he had incorporated into his routine had combined with the meals sent by Molly Weasley and produced visible changes in his appearance in less than a month. He had grown an inch in height and put on fifteen pounds of lean muscle. A trip to Diagon Alley with Tonks and Remus had allowed him to update his wardrobe—he wore a T-shirt and athletic shorts that fit him far better than Dudley's hand-me-downs ever had. He had left the Dursleys that morning without fanfare, leaving a laconic note on the kitchen table: "See you in June—H.P." He was less than happy to be setting foot in Sirius' house again—his memories of it were both painful and fresh. It was only two pieces of news passed on by Remus that had caused him to consent to come back: Mrs. Black's portrait had been reduced to ashes with carefully administered Incendio hexes, and Kreacher had taken his own life two days after Harry had returned to Privet Drive, under circumstances that no one was willing to elaborate about. The house had been thoroughly renovated by a team of house elves led by Dobby and Winky, and was a far more cheerful environment than Harry remembered it as being. _Sirius would have liked it this way—I wish he could see it. _He looked back at Professor Dumbledore and quietly asked, "What news is there of Voldemort?"

"Nothing new—he's apparently gone to ground for the time being. Most of his most loyal and powerful remaining supporters were captured in the attack on the Ministry, Harry—he will need time to gather new followers." Harry nodded again, his mouth twitching at the unwanted reminder of the tragedy. Dumbledore sighed and added, "We paid a dear price for that night, Harry—but Voldemort suffered dearly as well. He remains a deadly threat, but we will have some time to prepare our defenses before he can strike. We must use the time wisely."

"I know," whispered Harry, turning to look at the fire for a moment. Dumbledore waited patiently as Harry stared into the flames for some time, then turned back to him. "You asked for this meeting, Professor—what did you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to help you plan the rest of your summer, Harry. I have been quite busy since your return to Privet Drive, but you certainly deserve as much of my undivided attention as I can spare." Dumbledore smiled at Harry, who relaxed visibly as the ancient wizard continued, "The next few weeks will hopefully be a time of rest and reflection for you, Harry—you will be training for the Quidditch match, which should serve as well as your new training regime for keeping you physically fit. You have been devoting yourself to studies, and I urge you to continue—I have a strong belief that when you receive your O.W.L. grades next week, you will be quite pleased with the results, and ready to plan your future. The extra studying you have been doing will help that end greatly. However, I am going to make certain you have time to spend on activities other than study or sport, Harry. You will be staying at Hogwarts until after the game, and I have invited Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna Lovegood to join you for the duration of your stay. Several Aurors will also be staying at the castle, and will be available to allow you to take day trips to Hogsmeade." Harry brightened, and Dumbledore looked at him fondly and concluded, "I expect you to work hard, Harry—but I also insist that you enjoy yourself. I fear that the coming months may be hard on all of us, and on you most of all. Consider this upcoming time as an escape from those troubles."

Harry looked back at Dumbledore with a solemn expression and replied, "I'll do my best, Professor—was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I was able to demonstrate to the satisfaction of Minister Fudge that Sirius was innocent of the charges against him, and that Peter Pettigrew was alive and had been your parents' Secret Keeper. He has signed a proclamation acknowledging this, which will be published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow." Harry's eyes flashed angrily, and Dumbledore nodded in response. "Yes, I know it is a cold comfort, but it has one beneficial effect. Now that he has been cleared, Sirius' estate has been freed from the control of the Ministry, and Sirius' will—which he executed last year with myself, Arabella Figg, and Professor McGonagall as witnesses—will go into full effect. He left substantial funds to his favorite cousin Andromeda and to her daughter Nymphadora—" Harry winced, knowing how annoying Tonks found her given name, and Dumbledore noted the reaction with a twinkle of his eyes as he continued, "—but he left the bulk of his estate to you, Harry—including this house and one of the largest fortunes to be found in the wizarding world."

Harry's eyes went cold. "I don't want it—any of it. Why didn't he leave it to Remus? Thanks to those stupid laws and the way people treat werewolves, he can't find steady work. He deserves it more than I do."

"Unfortunately, Harry, those laws which you correctly describe as stupid made it impossible for Sirius to leave Remus anything in his will." Harry scowled, and Dumbledore explained, "If Sirius had no living blood relatives, then he could have freely distributed his estate as he saw fit; however, since he does have such relatives, the only way any of them can be wholly disinherited is if the assets are distributed to certain alternative beneficiaries. As a non relative and a half-breed in the eyes of the law, Remus is not such an individual. If you were to refuse your inheritance, it would automatically be distributed among Sirius' closest blood relatives: Andromeda Tonks and—"

"Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange," spat Harry.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied grimly. "As Sirius' godson, you are an unimpeachable heir to his fortune. Narcissa Malfoy may wish to challenge the will, but she will lose—and the attempt will drain a pleasingly large amount of her personal wealth, since the Ministry has frozen the Malfoy fortune now that Lucius Malfoy has been implicated as a Death Eater. Bellatrix is even less well situated to challenge the will, being wanted for murder and as an escapee from Azkaban. My advice to you is to accept Sirius' generosity, knowing that doing so will fulfill his wishes and strike another blow against Voldemort's supporters. Furthermore, there is nothing stopping you from being extremely generous to your friends and to worthy causes once you have accepted your inheritance, Harry—and I suspect that Sirius knew you would behave accordingly."

"You're right," admitted Harry, shaking his head and looking at Dumbledore with an exasperated expression. "It just feels _wrong_ to inherit a pile of money because I made a mistake that helped get Sirius killed."

"Harry, few of us are fortunate enough to go through life without making any mistakes that cause harm to those we love. All we can do is do our best to keep those mistakes to a minimum, and to do what we can to make amends as best as possible afterwards." Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry, but there was a note of satisfaction in his voice as he added, "And making sure that Voldemort and his supporters never see a thin Knut of the Black fortune is a great gift that Sirius has arranged for us. We should help preserve it." Harry nodded again, and Dumbledore smiled and announced, "Now that we have taken care of that business, we have a meeting to attend in my office. The planning of a major Quidditch match is a formidable task, and the owners of Puddlemere United and the Vrasta Vultures will be there in fifteen minutes to complete the arrangements. We have a busy afternoon ahead of us, Harry."

Harry fidgeted as he sat in the unfamiliar comfort of one of the professor's chairs at the head table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall sat next to him, smiling softly at Harry's visible impatience. On her other side, Professor Dumbledore stood in silence, looking at a spot ten feet in front of him. Abruptly, five figures popped into view on that very spot, and Dumbledore smiled as the new arrivals visibly gathered themselves after the shock of the portkey and looked up at the head table with relief. Dumbledore spread his arms in a greeting gesture and said simply:

"Welcome back to Hogwarts. Come up and sit down—I fear Harry's stomach will deafen all of us with its growling if we delay the feast any longer."

Harry scowled in mild annoyance at Professor Dumbledore, but he was already rising to meet his friends. Ron reached him first and caught him in a bearhug, already in mid-sentence as he did so: "Bloody hell, Harry—you're going to be playing with some of the best Quidditch players in the world! The only way it could be better is if the Cannons were in the game!"

Harry laughed and replied, "Who knows—maybe the Cannons will want to do this after we play this game." Ron grinned and released him, and Ginny quickly took his place, hugging him firmly until Harry chuckled and commented, "Careful, Ginny—I wouldn't want to give Dean a justification for beating me senseless."

Ginny stepped back, and Harry took an instant to objectively appreciate the changes that the last few years had wrought in her before she smirked and commented, "Ha! As if you'd try anything, Harry!" Harry assumed an affronted expression, and Ginny snickered before adding, "Besides, it's been three whole days since he's owled me—a spot of jealousy might get his attention."

Harry shuddered inwardly—_Heaven save me from vindictive redheads_—before winking at Ginny and stepping forward to clasp hands with Neville: "Thanks for coming—was your grandmother brassed off about your dad's wand being broken?"

"Never came up—she couldn't stop crying and hugging me when she met me at the station. We went to Diagon Alley last week and stopped by Ollivander's for a new wand." Neville pulled out a dark-colored wand and swished it for effect before continuing in a fair imitation of Ollivander's voice: "Ten inches, maple, heartstring of a dragon." Harry laughed, and Neville added, "It's a lot more comfortable than I ever felt with Dad's wand—I can't wait to try new spells with it."

"We'll have time before the game—let me know if you need a moving target." Harry was amazed at this newly confident Neville. _Maybe he can finally show all the people who have made his life miserable over the years that there's more there than they could have imagined. _ He nodded at Neville, and turned to the young blonde woman in front of him and smiled as he called out, "I didn't get in the way of any of your plans with your father this summer, did I?"

"Father is dedicated to finding the Crumple Horned Snorkack—as am I—but we both agree that some things are more important in the short run: he's just going to have to do without me." Luna smiled at Harry and reached out to squeeze his hand as she whispered, "Harry—you need to look at the familiar to find the new. I'll help as best I can, but you're going to have to know what to do when the time is right."

Harry blinked in confusion, and it was a long moment before he managed a nervous cough and replied, "Thanks, Luna—I'll keep that in mind." Luna smiled at him again and stepped away as Harry turned to the last new arrival and said simply: "It's good to see you, Hermione."

The bushy-haired young woman in front of Harry blinked, then took three quick steps and hugged him fiercely, whispering, "Oh God, Harry—I'm so glad that you're feeling better than you were the last time we saw you. I was worried that going back to those miserable people who raised you would make you worse and I—" Hermione pulled back, and Harry saw her eyes were full of tears as she continued, "I just couldn't bear it if—"

"Shh—I'm all right, Hermione. Don't ever doubt it." Harry felt something relax inside him as he registered that Hermione was completely recovered and back to her old self again—and he waited a moment to let that sink in before he drew her back into a hug, and he felt her shiver as he added, "Sirius would want us to keep fighting to beat that bastard Voldemort—and he deserves everything he might have wanted, considering what he went through. I don't suppose you'd like to help?"

Hermione pulled away from Harry again, and Harry saw raw determination in the eyes of his best friend as she whispered, "Absolutely." Harry met her eyes and nodded appreciatively, and waited for her to react. Hermione looked back at him with an expression that Harry was completely unable to interpret, then grinned wickedly before saying simply:

"Let's tuck in—shall we?"

Harry just stood and stared at the sight in front of him. Ron frowned in concern, and was about to step forward to see what was wrong when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He turned and saw his Head of House shaking her head at him. "Give him a few moments, Mr. Weasley." Professor McGonagall's eyes were on Harry, and Ron could see the affection in them as she added: "He's been away for a long time."

The pitch itself looked as it always had: the long, lush oval of grass with three elevated hoops on each end. The surrounding area looked decidedly different, and Harry knew that it would change further before the game actually took place. He turned around just in time to hear Hermione ask, "It took a year for five hundred Ministry wizards to prepare the grounds for the last Quidditch World Cup—how in the world will the Hogwarts grounds be ready in time? How will you find room to put in all the seats that will be needed?"

"Most of the time and effort involved in preparing the World Cup site was expended by casting the anti-Muggle charms, Miss Granger. Hogwarts already has those in abundance, and the pitch will remain within the boundaries of our wards even after its expansion." Professor Dumbledore spoke softly, and Harry—though he had already heard the explanation in his meeting with Dumbledore and the Quidditch officials—listened with interest as he continued, "As you can see, the trees within a fifty-yard radius of the edges of the field have been removed temporarily with Vanishing Charms—the Charms were timed to allow all of the trees to return three days after the day of the game. Professor McGonagall has coordinated the efforts of a small team of gifted Transfiguration artists to create the steel bracework you can see above, beside and behind the existing stands. Two days before the game, I will assist that same team by helping them to Conjure stands and facilities which meet the specifications agreed on by myself and the team owners. The magic will be strong enough to keep the stand in existence for forty-eight hours after the scheduled beginning of the game—long enough to clean up the considerable amount of refuse that is bound to be left by such a large crowd, so that it does not come tumbling down into our forest. The Transfiguration team will then remove the bracework, the trees will reappear the next day, and our Quidditch pitch will be as it was, as will the forest."

Hermione's eyes sparkled, and Harry had the feeling that she was itching to get in on some of the spellwork involved. He had a thought, and asked, "Professor Dumbledore—why didn't they just do something like this for the World Cup? Wouldn't it have been a lot less expensive?"

"Yes, but the Ministry has always taken some pride in running these events itself, particularly since it's an opportunity to spend taxpayer money that they don't object to." Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "Also, the longest World Cup final game in history lasted for two weeks, Harry—it wouldn't do to have the stands vanishing in mid-game. As you know, this charity game will end after six hours even if the Snitch has not yet been caught. Knowing that in advance makes planning quite a bit easier."

Harry nodded—he knew that Conjured objects only lasted for a short period of time, and that producing stands that would even last four days would require an extraordinary amount of magic. His eyes moved back to the pitch, and he noticed a number of figures flying above it. He pointed and commented, "Looks like we're not the first ones here."

"No, we are not." Professor Dumbledore led the others out onto the pitch, and the flying figures quickly began to descend. They wore blue Quidditch robes, and as they landed, Harry could see the crossed gold bulrushes on the backs of the robes. Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry's obvious expression of recognition and elaborated, "Your new teammates wished to meet you."

"Ah, there you are, Potter. Don't be cross with Dumbledore—we told him to make it a surprise." A man of medium height with the build of a wrestler stepped forward and offered his hand to Harry. "David Robinson—Keeper and team captain of Puddlemere United."

Harry gathered his composure enough to shake the offered hand firmly, and gave Robinson his full attention as he introduced his teammates: "Danielle Adams, Gary Samuelson, and Robert Walters—our Chasers. John Colton and Ryan Morton—our Beaters. And Amanda Davis—soon to be Amanda Talbot—our Seeker."

Harry shook hands with the starting members of Puddlemere United, ending with Amanda Davis. He coughed self-consciously—fully aware that he was expected to be in this player's shoes for the match—and commented, "I didn't expect to be meeting you—I heard you had a wedding to plan."

Amanda Davis was a tiny woman with short blonde hair and vivid blue eyes that sparkled at him as she replied, "When we heard where the team was going to be today, Roland and I flipped a Knut to see who would stay and supervise the wedding plans." She grinned wickedly and added, "Roland lost." Harry laughed politely, and Amanda commented, "It might make him feel better if you could autograph this for him, Harry." She held out a copy of the Daily Prophet, on the front page of which was a huge article about the game, accompanied by a picture of Harry's Cup-winning Snitch catch during his third year. Harry's eyes flashed with a touch of malice as he noticed the photo showed Malfoy's dismayed expression as Harry's hand closed over the Snitch. He quickly signed the paper and handed it back to Davis with a smile before turning back to the patiently waiting Robinson, who introduced him to the reserve team: Peterson, Selden, and Douglas at Chaser; Norris and Andrews at Beater, and—as Robinson put it—"I believe you already know the bloke who waits around for me to get old or to get brained by a Bludger, Potter."

Harry laughed at the joke and shook hands with the reserve team members—finishing with Oliver, who was also chuckling at the dark humor. After they had finished, Harry waved to the others and introduced his friends from Hogwarts to the team. Harry was not surprised to see that the strongest reaction from the players was to meeting Professor Dumbledore; after all, he had been a legend in the Wizarding world for decades, and a substantial number of the team members had graduated Hogwarts themselves, Oliver being only the most recent. He _was_ surprised to see the reactions they had to meeting Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville. Apparently, word about the events at the Ministry had traveled far and wide.

After the introductions, Robinson nodded and commented, "Right then. All right, everyone from Hogwarts who isn't Harry Potter can head off for the stands—where I'm sure Professor Dumbledore can keep you entertained while we take care of some business." Dumbledore nodded, smiled and led the others for the stands, and Harry waited as Robinson turned to him and added, "And you're out of uniform, Potter." He pulled out his wand and mumbled what Harry barely had time to recognize as the Switching Spell before he felt a rustling sensation and looked down to find that he was now wearing the robes of Puddlemere United. He grinned involuntarily and looked back up at Robinson, who nodded as he continued, "We'll do some warm-up drills for about half an hour to let you get a feel for your broom again—that Umbridge creature should be flogged for forcing you away from it—and then we'll have a couple of practice games. I want you to get a feel for how we play, so I'll have you with the reserves so you can play against the people you'll be playing with on August 8th. All right?" Harry nodded, and Robinson turned to the other players and called out, "All right, let's get into the air: the day isn't getting any longer while we wait!"

The members of Puddlemere United mounted their brooms and soared into the air, and Harry only hesitated for a moment in wonder before he followed them.

Harry listened to the final instructions of Robinson, then headed off for the locker room. His muscles ached and he was exhausted, and he desperately needed a hot shower to deal with that, the large quantity of sweat that had poured out of him during the last four hours, and the intense embarrassment he was feeling about his performance.

It had taken him a few minutes to get the feel back for his Firebolt: it had been months since he was on a broom, and even the famously responsive Firebolt did not save him from a few false starts and overcompensation on turns—he made sure to get well above the others until his movements became as natural as they had been before his enforced break from flying. When he felt completely comfortable again, he went back down to the others and started chasing the practice Snitches that Madam Hooch had released below. He made an experimental dive which he pulled up from less than three feet from the ground, and was rewarded with yells of encouragement from above, though he was close enough to the stands to see that Hermione had not particularly enjoyed the stunt—her eyes were wide and her face had gone pale. He had smiled reassuringly at her and gone back to practicing.

The practice games themselves had not gone quite as well.

Harry remembered how tempting it had been to use the slowed down footage that the Omnioculars had made available at the World Cup, and that it was only falling behind where the action currently was that made him stop and go back to following the lightning fast action on the pitch live. That had been hard enough—actually being in the middle of it quickly proved to be a thoroughly bewildering experience.

Even from his vantage point far above the other players, Harry could barely follow the action. The Quaffle moved from player to player as if shot from a cannon, and the Chasers seemed to catch it as easily as a child would a beach ball. The Bludgers weren't quite as deadly looking and the Beaters didn't seem to be quite as homicidal as at the World Cup, but it was still rather more dangerous looking than even the nastiest Gryffindor/Slytherin match. Only a few Bludgers came his way, and he had been hard-pressed to evade them.

As for his own responsibilities, he had searched fruitlessly for long minutes in both games for the Snitch—ignoring a few sudden movements downward by Davis when he saw no gold flash in the direction she was going---only to finally spot it and be beaten to it both times by the older Seeker. She did not gloat or even show much excitement, but Harry felt as thoroughly down as he had for Malfoy's rare triumphs over him. After the second game, he had forced a smile onto his face, shook hands with the others, and waited for Robinson to tell the team that Professor Dumbledore had scheduled a feast in their honor in the Great Hall, and that they were all invited.

Harry was not in the mood to think about food. The shower stalls in the locker room were private. He waited for the sounds of the others showering and dressing to subside, then quietly dressed and exited the locker room. _I'll have Dobby take Professor Dumbledore a note from me—tell him that I was tired and not that hungry after the practice. He'll believe--_

"Harry."

Harry blinked, startled out of his thoughts, and looked over at the entrance of the dressing room—where Amanda Davis was standing. She had changed out of her robes and was wearing a black evening dress that Harry knew from his few trips to London would have set back a Muggle a good thousand pounds. He forced down his embarrassment at how badly this woman had beaten him, and decided to pick a safe subject: "That's a very nice dress—are you going off to meet Mr. Talbot for dinner?"

Amanda Davis shook her head and smiled. "A woman about to get married has an excuse to buy clothes—and I wanted to show off for my co-workers and the celebrities I'm going to dinner with tonight." Harry managed a weak laugh, and Amanda looked at him with eyes that seemed to Harry to contain a touch of sadness as she asked quietly, "Harry—could I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Harry desperately did not want to talk at that moment, but he couldn't refuse a polite, direct request like that. He nodded and walked over to one of the benches in the room, and waited patiently for Amanda to sit down across from him before sitting down himself and meeting her eyes with a blank expression. After a few moments of silence, Harry swallowed hard and asked simply: "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Amanda blinked, and the expression on her face was neutral as she replied, "I wanted to know how you think you did out there today, Harry."

Harry looked down—she had cut right to the heart of it. _No use putting it off._ He looked back up at Amanda and whispered, "I looked like a kid who hadn't seen a broomstick before today compared to you guys. I feel like a joke."

Harry was surprised to see Amanda smile genuinely at him—she had a nice, warm smile. He blinked in confusion, and remained silent as Amanda shook her head at him and replied, "Harry, the day we can't make any fifteen year old schoolboy—no matter how many times he's kicked You-Know-Who's arse--feel a bit overwhelmed is the day this team disbands. As for you being a joke—I graduated from Hogwarts two years before you arrived, and I've seen Omniocular replays of every game at this school since then, and you're by far the best Hogwarts Seeker I've seen come along in all of that time, including Charlie Weasley."

Harry blinked, and shook his head. "You know that's not true. Both times today, you easily beat me to the Snitch—"

"Yes—because both times I was a lot closer to it when it came into view, and I'm using a newer model Firebolt than you are: one of the fringe benefits of doing this for a living. What you may not have realized is that both times you spotted it first—you just couldn't close the distance soon enough. You're a magnificent flier, Harry—but there isn't a flier alive who can cover twice the distance in the same time that I can: not unless you saddle me with a Shooting Star and a splitting headache." Harry still looked skeptical, and Amanda sighed and added, "Not to mention—I've been starting Seeker for one of the best Quidditch teams in Europe for five years, Harry. I wouldn't have been if I didn't know a few tricks. You ignored some of my better ones—you ignored my feints, and just waited to spot the Snitch on your own. That's the smart thing to do when you're facing a more experienced Seeker who has positional advantage on you and an equal or better broom. You're never going to chase them down from behind, and if you do, they're probably just setting you up for a Wronski Feint anyway. There's nothing wrong with your performance that two years more practice at Hogwarts won't work out—assuming the rest of your life stops getting in the way of important things like Quidditch." Harry smiled involuntarily, and Amanda winked at him and commented, "I'd be willing to bet that after we play this game, about fifteen professional Quidditch teams will be waiting for the day that You-Know-Who meets his end to send you some embarrassingly large contract offers."

Harry laughed—though the obvious implication of the last comment was that no sane professional Quidditch team would take on a Seeker who was being targeted for death by Voldemort--then looked away again as he muttered, "But I don't have two years to get ready. If I couldn't—" Harry stopped in mid-sentence, realizing he had almost said something incredibly tactless to someone who had just gone out of her way to be very kind to him.

"If you couldn't beat me, how are you going to beat Viktor?" Amanda's voice was perfectly calm, and Harry waited for an angry response. He was relieved when Amanda chuckled and added, "Harry—do you think I can't read a statistical analysis from _The Year In Quidditch_? Viktor Krum has been playing professional Quidditch for three years now, and he's been rated as the best Seeker in the world all three years. Mind you—I was in the top five two out of those three years, but that's not the same thing. You're going up against someone who's probably the hottest Seeker to come along in the last fifty years, and you're doing it without a lot of the tricks and experience a professional would have. It's going to be tough. Your only hope will be to practice your arse off over the next couple of weeks, stay alert during the game, and hope that the Snitch appears close enough to you to give you a fair shot to reach it first. It's a better chance than anyone else who isn't one of the best professional Seekers in the world would have against him, Harry. We've got better Beaters than they do, so you'll be able to bide your time and wait for your moment. The crowd knows who Viktor Krum is—no one but an idiot will jeer at you for losing to him. Don't be afraid to give yourself the best chance you have to beat him."

Harry looked at Amanda for a long moment, and smiled gratefully at her before commenting, "You're pretty good at this—are you planning on being a team manager when you're done Seeking?"

Amanda shook her head, and her eyes shone with intensity as she leaned towards Harry and whispered, "No, Harry. When my time comes, I intend to let my talented, younger husband do all the hard work for a while, while I retire to live the life of a spoiled former athlete, and have many fat, healthy children in a Lord—Bloody---Voldemort---free world." Harry stared at her in surprise and a little shock, and Amanda reached out and clasped his hand before adding, "You've been doing your part for my little dream so far, Harry—and this game will help some more. Thank you." Harry blinked, and Amanda sighed and announced, "I'm famished—let's go tackle that feast, shall we?" She released Harry's hand, stood up, and walked out, and Harry—still more than a little bemused---followed her after a moment.

. . . to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired


	3. Ch 3

Chapter Three

Life at Hogwarts for the summertime visitors quickly fell into something of a routine after the members of Puddlemere United left the castle the next morning, with thanks for their host and "see you soon" calls to Harry.

Harry rose every morning at six, did a light workout, showered, dressed and ate a substantial breakfast that Dobby brought up to him. After this, he would go out to the Quidditch pitch—where one or more of the members of Puddlemere United would be waiting for him. For hours, they would go over various ways in which the players on the team interacted with each other—Harry was somewhat familiar with most of them from experience, but the professional game had layers of subtlety that had been laid down over centuries, and Harry eagerly absorbed the knowledge that was being passed on to him. He dodged the padded practice Bludgers being fired at him without complaint, and the few substantial bruises he got were readily handled by Hermione—who had been studying simple Healing charms and was sitting in the stands, visibly reviewing the final chapters of the sixth year texts that Harry had cracked earlier that summer. After swearing Wizard's Oaths not to reveal any of the strategies or tactics they saw, the other Hogwarts inhabitants were invited to the practices as well. Ron watched raptly, wishing he could take notes for the Gryffindor playbook and mentally unraveling the various plays to try to extract useful information from them that could be passed on without violating his oath. Hermione kept one eye on things but continued studying fiercely. Ginny also had books out—she had taken the experience of her older friends on the O.W.L.s the prior month to heart and was poring over course outlines that Hermione had prepared. Neville usually had a Herbology text with him—it had been fairly obvious for years where his strength lay, in spite of recent developments that suggested he had hidden others. Luna—typically—was the only one without a regular routine. She did not wander onto the Quidditch pitch—much to Harry's relief—but she tended to spend time with each of the others. He had asked Hermione about it, and she had frowned and replied, "She may just be a bit restless, Harry—she's here to support you, but her heart is in hunting down monsters that don't exist! After we're all out of Hogwarts, we need to get her together with Hagrid—they'd be perfect for each other."

Harry had laughed at that, but saw Hermione's point: both Hagrid and Luna had a precarious relationship with what most in the Wizarding World would consider reality, but it seemed to work for them a whole. Luna seemed happy, and from Harry's vantage point above the stands, no one had seemed to mind spending time with her—including Ron, who had been uncomfortable with her in the past. He had asked Ron about it, and Ron shrugged and replied "She knows her Quidditch, Harry—and I have to admit, she's one of the nicest girls I've met at school. When she says something that sounds off, I just nod and we go on from there."

At noon, they would go in for lunch, with everyone sitting at the faculty table as before. Most of the faculty had apparently gone off on vacation, or—as was the case with Filch—habitually took his meals in his quarters to avoid socializing. The only adults at the table were Dumbledore, McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and—much to the irritation of most of the students present—Professor Snape, who took a seat well away from any of the students and made a show of ignoring the other occupants of the table.

"Why is he around, anyway?" Harry had muttered after their third luncheon in the castle, as they went back to Gryffindor Tower to change. "Isn't he supposed to be spying on Voldemort?"

Hermione had started to respond, but had quickly restrained herself from replying upon seeing the stormcloud expression on Harry's face. Ron had unexpectedly frowned and replied, "V-Voldemort knows that Snape has duties here—that can't have been a problem before, or Snape'd never been able to go back to him to begin with. The git is probably taking his meals with us just so he can take notes to figure out new ways to take points away from us next year."

Harry had agreed and let the matter go, but he still felt a muscle twitch in his face every time he saw the Potions Professor go by in the halls. He was awaiting his O.W.L. grade in Potions with more than a little ambivalence, as the grade that would allow him to most readily follow the Auror career track would also doom him to two more years with a professor who despised him, and who would undoubtedly view an Outstanding Potions O.W.L. from him with profound suspicion.

Afternoons were pretty much free-form for the group of friends. On the afternoons when they didn't walk over to Hogsmeade as a group, they would often go their own ways. Ron and Ginny took advantage of the empty Quidditch pitch, firing and blocking Quaffles as Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration team continued to prepare the stands around them. Hermione sought out the library, and was taking advantage of a letter signed by Professor Dumbledore to examine certain texts in the Restricted Section—conditional on her promising to consult him or Professor McGonagall if she wished to experiment with any of the spells therein. Harry and Neville engaged in some serious dueling practice, with Madam Pomfrey setting up camp in the Room of Requirement with them, muttering that she might as well come to the source of all the work she would be getting. As in the mornings, Luna seemed to be content to drift from friend to friend, only occasionally going off on her own.

Harry had approached Professor Dumbledore with the suggestion that they start Harry's Occlumency lessons on some of the available afternoons, but the ancient wizard had demurred. "I believe that part of the problem you had with Professor Snape—along with your obvious animosity for each other—is that you were otherwise under tremendous stress, Harry. Even under the best of conditions, Occlumency training is strenuous—failing to account for that was another error on my part. I wish for you to be as rested and relaxed as possible when you begin your lessons again—in mid-August."

Harry had nodded—Dumbledore's reasoning made sense to him. Still, the trickle of fear that Voldemort would soon once again seek to exploit the connection between them to hurt those around him never completely left Harry as the days went by and the month of July drew to a close.

Evenings were, by mutual agreement, devoted to study. Ginny and Luna were poring over the fifth-year texts and the O.W.L preparatory materials that Harry had arranged to bring to the castle, with Professor McGonagall's blessing and assistance. Ron and Neville—neither of whom expected to be continuing in Potions—spent the time working with some of the early spells in the sixth year Transfiguration and Charms texts. Harry and Hermione—who were substantially ahead of the others, thanks to Harry's early summer studying and Hermione's customary reading habits—spent the time in the Room of Requirement, which did an excellent job of providing what was needed to test out some of the new charms and transfiguration spells.

Harry and Hermione did not rest on their laurels—they continued to press hard at testing the new spells, and Harry was rather embarrassed at the praise that Hermione was showering on him for it. On the night of July 27th, Harry encountered his first real moment of frustration related to the new material—he was trying to cast a spell that vaporized a substantial amount of water instantly, turning it into very hot steam. Unfortunately, the large birdbath he was using as a target was only bubbling slightly when the bright blue bolts hit the water. He tried once more, waving his wand and shouting: "Atmos!"

Once again, the blue bolt only created a mild disturbance in the water, and Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione wandered over from where she had been transfiguring snails into violins and saw that Harry was more than a little annoyed. She waved her wand and called out, "Atmos!" The blue bolt that came from her wand was far brighter than the one that had come from Harry's, and the effect was a large cloud of steam that filled the section of the room that the birdbath was in. Hermione beamed, then turned to see a sulky expression on her best friend's face. She sighed and walked over to him, commenting, "Good heavens, Harry—it took the imminent threat of being roasted alive by a dragon to get you to learn to cast a proper Summoning Charm, and now you're brassed off because it's taking you more than five minutes to master the Vaporization Hex? Someone's obviously developed a rather high opinion of themselves."

Harry chose to disregard Hermione's expression, which indicated rather strongly that she was **glad** that he was taking that attitude, and snorted loudly before retorting, "And how many times did **you** have to try to cast that hex before you made it work?"

Hermione shuffled her feet slightly before looking back at him and admitting, "Well, once—you just saw it." Harry's scowl grew more pronounced, and Hermione hastened to add, "But I practiced the incantation and the wand motion with a stick at home a lot. Harry, you still need to work harder at noting the theory behind the individual spells. The Vaporization Hex is unusually dependent on channeling the magical energy flow within the wizard's body in an efficient manner—this keeps the amount of energy used to perform the function from being debilitating. This means that the motion of the wand must be very precise—the slightest deviation will cause the spell to fail."

Harry sighed—he was having flashbacks to their first year Charms class, before they became friends, and Hermione was lecturing Ron about the proper pronunciation of "Wingardium Leviosa." He looked at Hermione in exasperation and replied, "Hermione, I've been trying to follow the directions, and yes—I did read the bloody theory notes. I just can't seem to do it right. Can you show me?"

Hermione seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Harry was wondering what was wrong when Hermione's lips seemed to tighten and she nodded once. She cast a quick spell to clear out the steam, and another to refill the birdbath, then stepped behind Harry and leaned up against his back, grasping his wand arm from behind as she spoke in a soft and somewhat strained tone: "Begin with your upper arm parallel to your body and your forearm parallel to the floor. Move your wrist in a counterclockwise circle three times without moving your arm. After the third circle is completed, raise your arm in one continuous motion to shoulder level, parallel to the floor, and say 'Atmos' at the precise instant the motion is completed." She was moving his arm as she spoke, and after she had raised his arm to shoulder level, she was silent for a long moment before whispering in a subdued voice: "That should do it."

Harry had been hard-pressed to pay attention to the instructions Hermione was giving him—he was rather distracted by the fact that Hermione felt a lot different pressed up behind him than she had when she had when she had given him similar instruction during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The sensation had triggered a few thoughts that he had **not** previously associated with Hermione, even on the night of the Yule Ball when he had quite honestly thought that she had looked stunning. He swallowed hard, and considered saying something along those lines to her—girls liked compliments like that, didn't they? He was about to open his mouth when he remembered that Ron and Hermione had been clearly giving off signals that they were attracted to each other for years now—Ginny had pointed it out to him once, and he had been noticing the symptoms ever since, particularly Ron's jealousy about Viktor Krum. Hermione had never acted like that around him; obviously, she wasn't interested. _Besides, it wouldn't be right to get between my two best friends trying to get together just because I've noticed that Hermione is a girl---OK, that she's a really, really, gorgeous girl. Doesn't matter—it just doesn't_. He took a deep breath to recover his composure, and quickly moved his arm in the precise motions described by Hermione and shouted "Atmos!"

The blue bolt that came out of Harry's wand resembled the one that Hermione had produced, and the effect on the refilled birdbath was identical. Harry smiled—pleased that he had absorbed the lesson in spite of the major distraction—and turned back triumphantly to Hermione, who was looking uncomfortable for no reason that Harry could discern. He grinned at her and asked, "What's wrong? You taught me how to do it perfectly."

Hermione blinked, and her tone was brisk as she replied, "I was just concerned that I hadn't guided you through the motions correctly." She turned her back on him and Harry heard her mutter, "Your arms and back are a lot bulkier than I remember them being the last time I showed you a spell like that."

"Healthy eating and good exercise will do that to a growing boy, Hermione." Harry replied with a straight face. Hermione replied with an inarticulate grunt and went back to her books. Puzzled by her reaction but not inclined to bug her about it, Harry cleared out the steam and moved on to the next spell.

* * *

The end of July meant that Harry and Neville's sixteenth birthdays had arrived, and Professor Dumbledore had asked both of them what festivities they preferred—each having their own party on their respective birthdays on the 30th and the 31st, or one big party on one of the days. Both boys had quickly answered that a single big party on the 31st would work better—O.W.L. grades would be out on the 30th, and a lot of would-be guests would be rather distracted. Dumbledore had smiled—clearly pleased with their reasoning—and the owls had gone out announcing that there would be a big party at Hogwarts on July the 31st.

Both Harry and Neville had been told to invite whoever they wanted, and they had gone to the others and asked them for a list of people that they thought might want to come. Before long, a guest list had been produced that included the greater part of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, along with some rather notable alumni. The return owls had come quickly, and before long more than one hundred guests had replied with their intention to attend. Harry was pleased to see that Cho was one of the ones who had accepted. It had become pretty obvious that they were never going to be a serious couple, but he didn't want her to be angry with him—she had put a lot of hard work into the D.A., and she would undoubtedly be a valuable ally if the D.A. or a successor organization continued in the new school year.

Both Viktor and Oliver were also on the guest list, and Harry knew that the presence of the two professional Quidditch players at the party would lend some more glamour to it and would help the word-of-mouth for ticket sales. Besides—Hermione would like seeing Viktor again, and Harry himself wanted to size up his rival one more time before the day of the game.

The morning of the 30th dawned bright and early, as several dozen owls flew out all over Great Britain, sending along the results of the O.W.L. examinations. Four of the owls got the day off, as Professor Dumbledore solemnly delivered the letters to Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville. The four friends looked at each other, then opened their envelopes simultaneously. Neville's eyes widened and he crowed, "I passed everything! 'Adequate' in everything but Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and DADA—and I got 'Exceeds Expectations' in those!" He turned to Harry and Hermione, wanting to thank them for all of the help they had given him—but he waited, knowing that they were occupied with their own scores. Ginny and Luna moved over to congratulate him while the others continued to read.

Ron looked at his letter more calmly: he had done all right, though there were a few annoying blemishes. He had managed "Acceptable" in Charms, Herbology, Astronomy and Potions, and was pleased to see "Exceeds Expectations" in Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration—the "Outstanding" in front of DADA positively thrilled him, though the "Poor" grades in front of History of Magic and Divination were bound to raise his mother's eyebrows a bit. _Still—it's eight OWLs: not bad. _He turned to Neville and smiled at him, then turned to his two best friends to see how their scores had gone.

Hermione was scowling at her letter: the distraction during the Astronomy practical exam had lowered her practical grade to "Exceeds Expectations"; fortunately, her performance on the theory section had more than compensated, giving her an "Outstanding" overall. Still, it had cost her the highest score in the class, and she was a bit put off by the whole thing. The other classes had gone more smoothly, and even her minor error in Ancient Runes had not cost her the top position in the class. The summary of her grades was rather monotonous:

_Ancient Runes: Theory Outstanding/Practical N/A—Overall OUTSTANDING!_

_Arithmancy: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING!_

_Astronomy: Theory Outstanding/Practical Exceeds Expectations—Overall OUTSTANDING_

_Care of Magical Creatures: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING!_

_Charms: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING!_

_Defense Against Dark Arts: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING_

_Herbology: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING!_ _History of Magic: Theory Outstanding/Practical N/A—Overall OUTSTANDING!_

Potions: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING!

_Transfiguration: Theory Outstanding/Practical Outstanding—Overall OUTSTANDING!_

_!—Top score in the class_

_Your OWL totals are as follows:_

_10 Outstanding Overall Scores at 2 OWLs per score 20 OWLs_

_0 Adequate/Exceeds Expectations Overall Scores at 1 OWL per score 0 OWLs_

_You have a total of 20 OWLs, which total was equaled or exceeded by 0 students in your class._

_A total of 2 students in the history of Hogwarts have equaled your total. A total of 0 students in the history of Hogwarts have exceeded your total._

_Please accept our congratulations for a remarkable performance._

_Sincerely,_

_Griselda Marchbanks_

_Head Examiner_

_The Wizarding Examinations Authority_

Hermione forced down the trivial disappointment about the Astronomy exam—she had known all along that she would not be the top student in DADA—and took a moment to really smile before looking over at Ron and Neville and noting that they were clearly pleased with their results. She frowned with mild concern and turned to Harry—who was reading intently with a mildly stunned expression on his face. Hermione looked closely and saw that the letter with Harry's OWL results was sitting discarded next to him—he was reading another letter. Hermione hesitated a fraction of a second before deciding it was no time to heed proper manners and snatched the letter, scanning it quickly. _Poor in Divination and History of Magic—no shock there: Harry hates both those subjects. Adequate in Herbology and Astronomy. Exceeds Expectations in Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. Outstanding in Transfiguration and in Potions! Harry can follow the Auror track! Outstanding and top of the class in DADA! 10 OWLs!_

"Harry!" Hermione shed any inhibitions she might have had and hurled herself at Harry, hugging him fiercely. Harry put down the letter and returned the hug with enthusiasm. Hermione pulled back and stared at him, shouting, "Harry, these grades are great! Why aren't you more excited?"

"I am, Hermione—believe me." Harry still looked dazed, and Hermione's confusion grew as Harry shook his head and continued, "I was waiting for you to finish and tell you—then I saw there was a second letter in the envelope and I opened it—" He handed it to her, and Hermione began to read it quickly. After a few seconds, her jaw dropped.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_First, let me congratulate you on your performance on the OWLs. While your marks were far from flawless, they were obtained under extraordinarily stressful circumstances. While your scores were not adjusted to reflect this fact, you should be aware that it is common knowledge by now what you were enduring during this last year, and I can assure you that anyone evaluating those scores when you pursue a career will take it into account._

Now to a more pressing matter. We have become aware of the role that you and Miss Hermione Granger played in forming the so-called "Dumbledore's Army" during the just-concluded term at Hogwarts. While it is not ordinarily part of our duties to comment on the activities of an organization which was illegal at the time it was formed and during the time of its operation, the circumstances dictate that we do so.

_In short, Mr. Potter—well done indeed!_

_We have consulted the records of OWL examinations in DADA for the past century—the scores of this class are the highest in the past sixty years. Given the breakdown of scores between the various houses, it is glaringly obvious that the D.A.—which included no members from Slytherin House, according to news accounts—was the reason that a class which has suffered uneven instruction that culminated in malicious incompetence in this past year performed in such an outstanding fashion. Mr. Potter, if you find an inability to settle on a career after the nasty business with You-Know-Who is concluded, I would certainly urge you and Miss Granger to consider teaching: you both obviously have a pronounced gift for it._

_It is the unanimous decision of this body that you and Miss Granger be awarded the Special Medal of Educational Merit, and that the medals be formally presented to you during the Welcome Feast of the next term at Hogwarts. You both have done a great service to the Wizarding World, and the Medal—which has only been presented nine times in the past century—is the least honor you deserve for going above and beyond the call of duty in insuring that our youth will be well equipped to resist those among us who have turned to darkness._

_I trust that you will show this letter to Miss Granger as soon as possible—I decided to let her enjoy her remarkable OWL scores and let you give her this bit of news in its own good time._

_I trust that your future will continue to be as remarkable as your past has been. _

_Safe journeys,_

_Griselda Marchbanks_

_Head Examiner_

_The Wizarding Examinations Authority_

Hermione stared at the letter, and did not react as Harry squeezed her hand. After a moment, Harry leaned in and whispered into her ear: "Well, it certainly beats being chased around in the Forbidden Forest by homicidal centaurs."

Hermione snorted, then began to laugh. Harry shivered a little—there was enough pure joy in that laughter to light up the whole Great Hall. Ron came over to see what all the fuss was about, and when he finished the letter he looked at his two best friends and commented, "You two are going to be incredibly pleased with yourselves all day, aren't you?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and Harry replied, "Quite probably, yes."

Ron nodded grimly and looked at the two of them for a moment before breaking out into a grin and asking, "Mind if I tag along for the ride?"

Harry and Hermione shook their heads, and the three friends threw themselves at each other, making for a disorganized but jubilant group hug. Nearby, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall—having been tipped off about the contents of Harry's second letter—watched proudly as their favorite students celebrated.

* * *

Neville had slipped off and was heading back to his quarters to change for the walk out to the Quidditch pitch. He was pleased with his OWLs, but he knew this was a moment for the three longtime friends. He would congratulate them properly later---

"Mr. Longbottom—I require a few moments of your time on a matter of some urgency."

After the experience at the Ministry, no mere teacher would ever terrify Neville in quite the same way again. Still, the sudden appearance of Professor Snape from the shadows was enough to make him hesitate briefly before he straightened visibly, looked directly into the fathomless black eyes of his longtime tormentor, and replied simply:

"Of course, sir."

Snape seemed to examine him minutely for a moment, then turned and led Neville to his office. He motioned Neville to a chair and went to a tray on a shelf behind his desk. Neville blinked in surprise as Snape poured tea for both of them, then stepped behind his desk and sat down. Neville—at a loss for what to do—picked up his teacup and took a sip. He raised an eyebrow, and commented, "This is very good tea, Professor Snape—my Gram would love the recipe."

Snape smirked and replied, "It's a family secret—I'm afraid my ancestors would haunt me mercilessly if I let it slip." Neville blinked again—had Snape just made a jest that didn't involve tormenting a student? Snape noted the reaction and commented, "I'm surprised you drank it so readily, Mr. Longbottom—I'd have thought that you'd be afraid that I had poisoned it."

Neville shrugged. With the news of his OWLs and the improved situation for his friends, he was feeling better about things than he had in quite a while. "It wouldn't make much sense to poison me **after** I've finished my last class with you, Professor. Now, if you had given me a cup of tea just after I melted my fifteenth cauldron, I'd have sooner gone off to wrestle a basilisk than drink it."

Snape nodded thoughtfully, then replied, "You're more clever than I ever gave you credit for, Mr. Longbottom. Your performance on the OWLs has certainly made that clear—and your recent participation in the unfortunate events at the Ministry has certainly clarified how you ended up sorted in Gryffindor. I can't say that I'm sorry to see you leaving my class—you were rather disaster prone and I quite expected to meet my end during one of your mishaps." Neville looked away, embarrassed, and was surprised to hear Snape continue, "But the Examiners are rigorous and fair, and I am forced to conclude that you were able to take something away from my favored discipline in spite of your difficulties. I hope you make good use of it."

Neville needed a moment to recover after that comment. "Thank you, sir. If I may ask—what is the urgent matter you need help with?"

Snape took a moment to take a sip of tea, then replied, "As you may know, when I am not teaching here, or engaged in other matters of importance—" Neville—who knew of Snape's secret life as a spy against Voldemort—shivered a bit at the latter comment as Snape continued, "—I conduct research for the purpose of creating new potions of use to the Wizarding world. I created the Wolfbane Potion five years ago, which diminishes the threat that werewolves pose at the time of the full moon. I had not made any major new discoveries since that time—until two weeks ago, when I made a breakthrough in an area of interest to both my true allegiance and my assumed one. I have discovered a potion that will heal even the worst damage short of death inflicted by the Cruciatus Curse and similar magics."

Neville felt faint, and took another sip of tea before locking eyes with Snape and whispering: "My parents."

"Yes." Snape's voice was unusually gentle, and Neville swallowed hard as he continued, "I know you are aware of the therapies that St. Mungo's has applied up to now—they managed to repair much of the damage to their nerves, but some has persisted, and that has hampered efforts to deal with their psychological withdrawal from reality. Your parents are the most severely affected victims of Cruciatus to have survived their experience—my initial tests indicate that the basic form of the potion that I have created will suffice to repair some of their remaining nerve damage, but I fear it may not be enough to bring them fully back. There is a method that I believe will serve to strengthen the potion adequately to fully accomplish the task—but it will involve substantial hardship on your part."

Neville didn't hesitate. "Tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

Snape looked at Neville in silence for a moment, and Neville thought he saw a flicker of approval in the dark eyes before the Potions Master continued, "The potion can be strengthened by a distillation of a significant amount of blood from a close relative of the victim—the closer the relationship, the more power is involved. As their son, you are the ideal donor for both of them. Unfortunately, the blood all has to be donated within a short period of time—the amount involved would not be life-threatening, but you will need to spend five or six days at St. Mungo's and receive massive doses of Blood Replenishing Potion. Also—this matter will have to be conducted in complete secrecy: your friends will be given a cover story that you have contracted a rare ailment, and you must not talk to anyone else about this other than your grandmother and Professor Dumbledore—they are aware of the situation and gave me permission to discuss this matter with you."

Neville nodded. "I understand, sir. You-Know-Who would probably not approve of this particular use of your new discovery. I understand the risks you are taking, sir."

Snape blinked in mild surprise, and replied, "I won't ask how you know that, Mr. Longbottom. There is another reason for discretion besides your laudable concern for my safety. If it became known that your parents had regained their health and sanity, they would become important symbolic targets for the Dark Lord and his followers. There is one Death Eater in particular who would stop at nothing to see them lose their minds again, or dead."

Neville forced down the wave of hatred that welled up inside him at the reference to Bellatrix Lestrange, and replied coldly, "She'll have to go through me first, sir."

Snape nodded, but his voice was harsh as he replied, "Do not doubt that she can and will if the occasion arises, Mr. Longbottom. You have demonstrated competence that I would not have expected of you, and your willingness to face danger is unquestioned. But Bellatrix Lestrange is one of the most dangerous opponents you could ever expect to encounter, and no student—including our famous Mr. Potter—is likely to prevail against her without more experience and power than any of you possess at this time. Though I have little good to say about Sirius Black, he was a formidable wizard—I would strongly suggest you take his fate to heart before pursuing any plans to act against Ms. Lestrange. Vengeance is seductive—it tempts us to take actions that we know are foolhardy. Bide your time, and continue your training. The day may come when you can put paid to that debt." Neville nodded again, and Snape actually smiled slightly before saying, "We will begin matters on the 1st of August—Professor Dumbledore has prepared a Portkey for the purpose. Madam Pomfrey will provide the cover story about your illness, and a false story will be leaked to the Daily Prophet that suggests that a new death threat has been made against your parents. This will allow all three of you to be placed in a sealed, heavily guarded ward that will allow us to proceed in absolute privacy and security."

"I'll be ready, sir." The gratitude that Neville was feeling towards the man in front of him was greatly disorienting to him, and he found that he needed to depart. He stood and said, "I should get back to the others before they notice I've disappeared, sir. Thank you for the tea." Snape nodded, implicitly granting him permission to leave, and Neville left the office, unsettled but very excited about what the next few days would bring.

After the door had closed behind Neville, Snape looked at it for a moment before reaching into a drawer of his desk and pulling out a photograph. It showed two students sitting at a table in the Hogwarts library—they both appeared to be about sixteen years of age. One was clearly Severus Snape—his brow was visibly knitting as he read the massive potions text across from him. Sitting across from him was a lovely dark-haired, round-faced young woman who was looking over at Snape with concern visible on her face. Snape looked quietly at the photo for a long moment before whispering, "He's done remarkably well without you, Alice—but it's time he had you back." He put the photo away, scowled, and went back to studying the notes on the procedure that he would be following in a few days' time.

* * *

The Great Hall was bustling with activity, as house elves flitted from place to place, making sure that the castle's new guests were taken care of. It was the evening of the 30th, and the students who had not been distracted by the arrival of their OWL grades had taken advantage of the wording of the invitation to spend a night socializing—the fact that it would almost certainly be a Slytherin-free gathering was just a bonus.

Harry and his friends all found themselves in demand, and they ended up separated. Ginny and Luna were in a cluster of soon-to-be fifth year students, and—with a more or less full account of the events at the Ministry having been published—no one seemed inclined to tease Luna or hide her possessions. Neville seemed to be in a contemplative mood, but the Creevey brothers had cornered him and were relentlessly forcing a first-hand account of the events at the Ministry from him. Harry and Ron had attracted a big crowd—including Cho, who had greeted Harry with a warm hug and a whispered apology—and they were telling the gathered students about the upcoming transformation of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. Word of Hermione's remarkable performance on the OWLs had leaked out, and a crowd of the curious and envious had surrounded her. Her willingness to help other students with their studies had made her popular over the years, and the students around her listened carefully to her insights about the exams she had just completed so successfully.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Harry and Ron had taken their leave of their friends for a moment to get fresh glasses of punch, and they stood and watched their best friend command the complete attention of three dozen students as she spoke about the Arithmancy exam. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and her hands moved in precise, quick patterns as she described a particular equation.

"Yeah, she is." Ron sounded wistful as he replied, and he continued looking at Hermione with an expression that matched his tone for a moment before he turned and saw that Harry was looking at him with a vaguely irritated expression. He blinked and asked, "What?"

Harry sighed and decided that enough was enough. He shook his head and whispered, "You two have made it obvious you fancy each other for two bloody years now—have you ever considered doing something about it, before she wanders off and finds some insufferable Ravenclaw like that Michael Corner idiot that Ginny was seeing last year?"

Ron blinked, and Harry braced himself for a blanket denial of any interest in Hermione. He was surprised when Ron sighed and shook his head sadly before replying, "I've been thinking about that for a while, Harry. Particularly during the last month." He rubbed his arm absently, where the welts from the brain attack had been. "Madam Pomfrey was right about thoughts leaving deep scars, and I've been having a lot of them." He looked bleakly at Harry and said simply, "I don't think we'd ever be able to make a go of it, Harry."

"Why not?" Aside from the concern he had for the well being of both of his best friends, Harry was genuinely curious—it wasn't as if he had any deep knowledge on romantic matters. "She's one of your best friends, she's the smartest witch at Hogwarts, and you two fancy each other—what could be wrong with it?"

"It's not that simple, Harry." Ron looked back at Harry, and—for the first time he could remember—Harry had the sense that his friend was somehow older and wiser than he was. Ron shook his head in mild frustration, then said quietly, "I'm not right for her, Harry—I never will be. Look at her—she's got forty students at a party standing there listening to a bloody Arithmancy lecture! Once we finish off that snake-faced bastard and graduate, you'll be a great Auror or one of the best Seekers in professional Quidditch, and Hermione will probably be Minister of Magic or Headmaster here by the time she's thirty. I'll do all right for myself—we Weasleys always do, even if we don't have money or power. But Hermione's going places that I can't even dream of, Harry—she needs someone who can be her equal. As much as I care about her—that's not going to be me."

Harry swallowed hard—he felt that he should say something to Ron, tell him that he was being too hard on himself. He opened his mouth—then closed it as he looked into Ron's eyes and saw the glimmer of hard-won wisdom in them. Whether it was the effect of the brain attack or simple maturity, Ron had looked deep within himself and found a painful truth there. Harry looked down for a moment, and there was profound sadness in his eyes as he looked back up and asked, "Does Hermione know you feel this way?"

Ron shook his head. "We've never talked about any of it—it would be a bit awkward to tell her that it would never work between us before ever bringing up that there could be an 'us.'" Harry nodded, and Ron continued, "There's someone else I think I might want to make a go of it with—don't know if she's even given me a second thought. I think I might want to find out, though."

Harry frowned, then reached out and clasped Ron's hand as he whispered, "Then do find out, Ron—I just hope Hermione doesn't take it too hard."

Ron nodded. "Me too. Let's get back to the others—Viktor will probably be here later tonight, and I want to shamelessly brag about you a little more without brassing off any of your guests."

Harry laughed, and the serious discussion was forgotten as they rejoined the party.

. . . to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired


	4. Ch 4

Chapter Four

Neville looked at the immaculately wrapped package, and hesitated before tearing off the paper and revealing a large book bound in thick black leather: its cover was decorated with a beautiful gilt-edged illustration of a plant. Neville's eyes widened as he recognized the plant and turned the book to read the title on its spine. He gasped and read out loud, "_Mysteries of Mimbulus Mimbletonia_—by Hieronious Godwulf!" He turned to Hermione—who was watching him with a gentle smile—and asked, "How did you find this? I've been asking around about this for almost a year now—no one's been able to find a copy—not even Madam Pince."

Hermione glanced back at Harry—who nodded—and looked at Neville as she replied softly, "I saw it in Sirius' library during the Christmas break, and I told him that you owned that plant and that you were very enthusiastic about it. He didn't say anything at the time about it, but after. . .after the Ministry, when Professor Dumbledore and some of the others were going through his things, they found the book in a pile he had set aside—and this note." She handed the note to Neville, who opened it immediately and read:

_Neville,_

_You don't know me—I haven't seen you since you were a baby--but I understand that Crookshanks and I caused you a bit of grief a while back by stealing those passwords. I'd like to make amends, and thanks to your friend Hermione I think I know how. This book has been in the Black family for many generations—I wasn't much for Herbology in school, but I know that the plant you're taking care of is quite valuable and useful, and from what I hear, you and the other students who are standing with Harry, Hermione and Ron will need every edge you can get. Please accept this book as a gift for that purpose, and as an apology for the inconvenience you suffered as a result of my actions. If you're reading this, I'm either still in hiding or dead—I hope it's the former, for the obvious reasons and because I'd like to meet you. I knew your parents before the terrible events that took Harry's parents from us and sent me to Azkaban, and I'd love to share some stories with you._

_Regards,_

_Sirius Black_

Neville closed his eyes for a moment, as he felt a pang of loss for a family friend he had never known. He resolved to ask his parents about Sirius Black when he had the chance, then looked back at Harry and Hermione and said simply, "Thank you."

The remaining guests had arrived in the early afternoon of July 31st, and after a substantial lunch and a few minutes for everyone to chat, Harry, Neville, and their guests gathered around a large table in the courtyard of the castle, to allow the birthday boys to open their gifts. Harry had insisted that Neville go first, as he was the elder, and Neville had blinked in surprise at the large pile of gifts that had ended up in front of him. He had invited only a few of the guests, and he certainly hadn't expected gifts from a lot of the people whose names were on the packages in front of him. As the guests applauded, he had opened the gifts with enthusiasm, and was bewildered at the variety of items that were gradually revealed. Neville's love for his pet toad Trevor was one of his most well known personal traits, and he had received several packages of treats meant to keep toads healthy and cheerful. Ginny had knitted a small body stocking that was sized perfectly for Trevor, and she had placed a charm on it that would allow Neville to take Trevor out into hot or cold weather without the toad suffering any ill effects. From those who knew him less well, sweets were the most common gift. Dean and Seamus had found a rare "Famous Herbologists In The Wizarding World" series of Chocolate Frog cards and had wrapped up the entire set for Neville. Neville's grandmother had given him a wand holster that kept the wand polished and protected it from thieves. Hermione's gift had been the biggest surprise of all so far, and he was overwhelmed by what he had received. He looked at the table—only Harry's gift to him remained. He looked over at Harry, who smiled at him and urged, "Go on, Neville—open it."

Neville opened the small box, revealing a tiny collar that was obviously just about the right size to fit on Trevor. Neville looked at Harry, then carefully put the collar on Trevor. Trevor looked annoyed for a moment, then seemed to accept the new decoration. Neville looked back at Harry, who grinned and asked, "What do you usually yell when Trevor goes missing?"

Neville blinked, then decided to play along. "I yell, 'Has anyone seen Trevor?'"

"I'm right here, Neville!" The voice echoed through the courtyard was oddly toad-like, and quite loud. Neville looked down and realized that the sound had come from the collar. Trevor's big eyes had widened a bit, but he seemed none the worse for the experience.

Harry grinned at the expression on Neville's face, and explained, "I've been working on NEWT level charms and transfiguration spells, and this seemed like a perfect way to practice them—and I knew that it would come in handy for you and Trevor. Hermione advised me on what spells would work best, but I did the wand-work myself."

"Thanks, Harry." Neville was genuinely moved by the thought that had gone into the gift, and impressed with the power of the magic that had been required to create it. He turned to the others and said, "Thanks again, everyone—this has been quite a birthday. I'm glad you're all here." He turned back to Harry and grinned as he commented, "Now, if we want to be done in time for dinner, the other birthday boy had better get started on his opening."

The guests laughed, and Harry walked up to the pile of gifts on the other side of the table. As Neville's joke had implied, it was large, but Harry had also noticed that a substantial number of D.A. members were holding wrapped objects in their hands—clearly not wanting to leave them in the pile. Harry was curious, but decided not to press the issue. He extracted a red-wrapped package from the pile, called out "All right, Hagrid—this won't bite, will it?" and began unwrapping as the guests laughed again.

As he went along, Harry had been surprised at how thoughtful some of the gifts were—particularly from guests who didn't know him that well. A group of soon-to-be fourth years from three different houses had cooperated to buy Hedwig a collar, a headpiece, and some remarkably light breast plating that affixed itself firmly upon the utterance of a command phrase. The students had explained that it should give Hedwig some protection if anyone chose to attack him in flight, and would send a message to Harry in the form of a tingle in his right hand should such an attack occur. Five graduating seventh-years had purchased Harry a pad enchanted with a permanent Massage Charm, which they assured him would be excellent for treating sore muscles resulting from vigorous Quidditch play ("or other vigorous activities", as a departing Ravenclaw whispered to him with a wink). Harry saw the longing looks on the faces of his Gryffindor teammates, and knew that he'd have to share this particular bounty.

Hagrid's present had been a wristband that emitted a sound soothing to most carnivorous creatures on command. Ginny had taken the photo of Harry beating out Draco for the Snitch for the House Quidditch Championship two years before and put it on a Muggle T-shirt with the caption "Warning! Deadly to Snakes!" Several of Harry's professors—most notably McGonagall and Flitwick—had obtained copies of Harry's practical OWLs and annotated them, pointing out the parts that he still needed work on and the parts they thought he had done particularly well on. Remus had located several more photo albums from the Marauders' days at Hogwarts, and Harry thanked his older friend warmly and chose to ignore the obvious places where photos had been removed—he knew full well why Remus had removed them. Hermione had spirited away a set of his class, dress, and Quidditch robes without his knowledge, and charmed them so that he could change from one to another with a single spoken command—thoroughly cleaning them in the process. Harry saw Professor Flitwick stand up very straight at this explanation, and suspected that Hermione might have progressed further in her spell research for NEWT-level spells than she had acknowledged to him.

The last present on the table was a small box from Professor Dumbledore. He opened it and saw it was a complete set of Chocolate Frog Cards. Harry opened it and saw that the top card was of Professor Dumbledore himself. He smiled, and realized that the Dumbledore on the card was speaking softly to him. He listened carefully and heard, "Harry—this is not my real gift to you, though I'm sure you and Ronald will derive some enjoyment from it. In your room under your bed is a Penseive I have obtained for your personal use—it should come in handy for your Occlumency lessons and for other reasons. I suspected that you might not want everyone here to know you have a Penseive, as the thoughts you may choose to put within it are probably going to be very private. You will have to decide on your own who is to be trusted with this knowledge." The Dumbledore on the card smiled, and concluded, "Happy birthday, Harry." Harry turned and smiled at Professor Dumbledore and thanked him, then carefully put the Chocolate Frog cards in the pile with the other gifts.

With the last of the gifts on the table having been opened, Harry was surprised that there had been nothing from Ron there. He knew that his friend would not fail to bring him a present, and he was not surprised to see Ron walking over to the group of D.A. students who were standing with packages. He _was_ a little surprised to see Ron whisper in Cho's ear, and again when the Ravenclaw Seeker stepped forward and stopped in front of Harry. Harry watched her silently, and Cho flushed slightly before coughing to clear her throat and beginning, "Harry, you've probably been wondering why we didn't put our gifts in with the others." Harry nodded, and Cho continued, "We got together a little while back to discuss what would be the best birthday present for you. You already have a great broom, and some of us aren't too thrilled with the idea of making it easier for you to beat us, anyway." Everyone laughed, and Cho continued, "You've never seemed too attached to expensive things, even though we know you could afford them if you wanted them. We wanted to give you something that would be special, that you couldn't just go out and get on your own if you wanted it. So we owled and flooed back and forth for a couple of weeks, and came up with this idea. When you and Hermione got together and founded the D.A., you gave us the gift of knowledge, Harry. We've all had to deal with the problems with the DADA instruction here—I know that I wish the DA had been around the year I had to take my OWLs, and I know a lot of other people in the classes ahead of you feel the same—even the ones lucky enough to have Professor Lupin as their professor for fifth year."

Harry turned and smiled at Remus—who looked both flattered at the compliment and proud of Harry—and noted the nodding heads among the guests before turning back to Cho, who continued: "Anyway, we want to build on what we've started, Harry. Professor Dumbledore tells me that he doesn't have any problems with letting the DA continue, regardless of who the next DADA professor is, and we all agree that it's a great idea and we want you and Hermione to stay in charge of it."

Harry smiled at Cho—he knew that she had been jealous of his friendship with Hermione, and was touched that this was important enough to her to put that animosity aside. "I can't speak for Hermione, but if Professor Dumbledore has no problems with it, I'd be glad to help keep the DA going—it'll be a lot more fun without having to keep one ear open for 'Hem, hem' all the time." The guests roared with laughter, and Harry grinned at them before turning back to Cho and prodding, "All right, then—what's the big secret? You've got my full attention."

"Harry—we come from a lot of different backgrounds. You-Know. . .Voldemort—" Harry noted Cho's slight hesitation as she forced herself to utter the forbidden name, and there were a few flinches from the crowd, but Harry noted with pride that Cho was able to disregard the moment of fear and go on: "—has done his best to give purebloods a bad name. Most of us aren't stupid enough to think that having only wizards and witches in our family trees makes us better people—or even necessarily better at magic." She deliberately turned and looked at Hermione—who had the good grace to blush slightly at the unspoken recognition—then turned back to Harry and continued: "What it does mean is that our families tend to have a longer connection with the traditions of magic, and family heirlooms associated with it. Hermione and Mr. Black's gift to Neville was a good example of that—a rare book that a member of an old pureblood family had sitting on a shelf collecting dust when it could be useful for fighting evil, or a great danger in the wrong hands. Well—Sirius Black isn't the only one who had a family library. We spoke with our parents, then with Professor Dumbledore, and came up with a list of books we had access to that were not in the library at Hogwarts, and which were otherwise difficult to come by. We would like to loan them to the DA—to be stored in the Room of Requirement—for the purposes of furthering the education of those who wish to face the darkness and are willing to put in the time to that end." Professor Dumbledore—whose eyes were twinkling with an intensity rare even for him—stepped forward and handed a list to Harry. Cho added, "Professor Dumbledore suggested that we leave them wrapped for now—to reduce the chance that someone unfriendly might hear of a particular title they would like to steal—but we'll have them all in the Room of Requirement ready to read before we leave."

Hermione snatched the list from Harry's hands without ceremony and began to read, and her jaw dropped and her eyes shone with something that might have been awe. Harry looked over her shoulder, and while he didn't recognize any of the titles, he did see the names of some of the most prominent witches and wizards over the last five centuries as authors—including a work on Alchemy by Nicholas Flamel—and he recognized the names of the students who had contributed them, including two from Ron. Cho noted the reactions and laughed, commenting, "It's your birthday, Harry—but I think Hermione is going to have more fun with this present, though you might want to take a good hard look at that text on Dueling by Randolph Edmund."

Harry nodded—a little numb—and was surprised when Seamus walked forward and announced, "Now, those of us who are half-bloods or muggleborns don't usually have much in the way of ancient magical tomes stashed away in our family libraries. What we _do_ have is a lot of books that aren't to be found anywhere in the magical world, which contain useful knowledge that bastard Voldemort can't be bothered to learn. There's no reason we have to be as stupid as he is on that subject—and we want to contribute to the cause, so—" Seamus gestured, and a number of students stepped forward and placed wrapped books on the table. Seamus handed Harry a list, grinned and moved back. Harry looked at the list and found a lot more names and titles he recognized: _The Art of War_, by Sun Tzu—_The Tao of Jeet Kune Do_, by Bruce Lee—_On War_, by Carl Von Clausewitz—and two dozen other books about fighting, explosives manufacture, tactics, and several other topics that would be very useful to the DA. He sensed Hermione behind him, reading the list, and shivered a bit before turning to the waiting guests and saying simply, "This is great—I'm going to go over the lists with Hermione before I talk to you about them—I need to really understand what it is you've given all of us. Right now, I'd just like to say thank you to all of you for coming up with this. I can't think of a better gift that you could have given me—and that's saying a lot, given the generosity I've seen here today." The others were silent, and Harry smiled and called out, "So why don't a few of us take these books up to the Room of Requirement, and we'll see the rest of you at the feast!"

The guests cheered and began to disperse, with a few pausing to shake hands with or hug either Harry or Neville before heading back into the castle. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Ron, and Luna were joined by Seamus and Dean as they bundled the presents into trunks, with the books all going into a single trunk that would go up to the Room of Requirement. Cho walked up and hugged Harry, whispering, "This is going to be great, Harry—I'm so proud to be part of it!"

"Me too," replied Harry, relieved that Cho's eyes were free of tears and that she seemed friendly, but not particularly inclined to pursue anything more with him. He turned and saw that Hermione was carefully watching the trunk full of books and laughed, commenting, "You definitely made Hermione's day."

Cho nodded, then set her jaw in determination as she walked over to Hermione and extended her hand, beginning: "Hermione—"

Cho had the wind knocked out of her as Hermione turned and hugged her fiercely, calling out, "Cho! This is wonderful! Thank you all for doing this!"

Cho was taken aback, but managed to return the hug. Harry managed to avoid snickering, and was just standing there as Ron walked over and saw the hugging going on, and noticed the expression on Harry's face. "Well, if you can watch that and stay calm, Harry, you're over Cho."

Harry gave Ron a dirty look, but had to admit that his friend was right. He had absolutely no romantic feelings about Cho.

* * *

"Ready to give up, Viktor? I've been peeking in on Harry's practices for over a week now, and he's better than I can ever remember seeing him." Oliver directed a visibly smug look at the world's greatest Seeker before taking another sip from his pumpkin juice. 

"That is good news—I vill enjoy the challenge." Viktor took a sip from his own drink, and noted that Harry seemed disinclined to taunt his future opponent. He looked over at the younger man and commented, "Harry, I have vatched Omniocular replays of your games—your tactics are quite daring and unorthodox. It is a vonder that you are still alive, given some of vat has happened during your Quidditch matches at Hogvarts."

"A lot of people would agree with you about that last part, Viktor," replied Harry, a bit unnerved at the idea of one of the greatest Quidditch players in the world carefully watching his performances and searching for flaws to exploit. He had a sudden thought and asked, "How did you get an Omniocular replay of those games? Amanda Davis told me she had seen them, but she went to Hogwarts—I assumed that she had just looked at one that someone here had made."

"Harry, those replays are quite valuable—there are a lot of people who are interested in watching you play. From what I hear, a complete set of your matches at Hogwarts would set someone back a good two hundred Galleons." Oliver smiled at seeing Harry's eyes widen at the figure, then added, "Professional Quidditch pays well—but even I don't want to throw that kind of money around, not when I saw most of those games myself."

Viktor smiled. "I have excellent sources—my copies only cost me one hundred and fifty Galleons. Expensive, but vell vorth the cost."

Harry frowned, then asked "How much do replays of your games sell for, Viktor?"

Meanwhile, Neville was in another part of the Great Hall, sipping his own drink and quietly thinking. He had been talking to a few of his friends earlier, but they had sensed his mood—though not the reason for it—and quietly taken their leave of him. He was momentarily startled when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see Ginny—who looked rather spectacular in bright green dress robes and with her hair done up. The scowl on her face ruined the effect somewhat, and Neville was moved to ask, "What did I do? I'm just standing here."

Ginny shook her head in dismay and replied, "That's just it, Neville. You're one of the guests of honor at this party, and you're off in a corner by yourself, looking morose. You chased your friends off, and I saw three girls ask you to dance while I was on the dance floor with Dean, and you turned them all down. What's wrong?"

Neville flinched inwardly—he was a poor liar, and Ginny could be very persistent. He managed a casual shrug and said, "Can't someone be in a contemplative mood on his birthday? I've visited with a lot of people the last two days—I just wanted a little time to myself to think a bit. As for those girls—none of them would have given me the time of day before the whole thing at the Ministry. It's just reflected glory from Harry and the rest of you—when school starts again, they won't give me a second thought."

Ginny rolled her eyes and snapped, "Oh yes, you go off and fight against a whole squad of Death Eaters and live to tell the tale, and for some strange reason girls are looking at you differently after word gets out about it. How bloody unreasonable of them."

Neville blinked—Ginny looked brassed off, and she was making sense: always a dangerous combination. Ginny shook her head at Neville again and added in a softer tone, "Neville—you weren't just along for the ride: you did as much as most of us did, and you suffered for it. You're not the same person you were a year ago—why don't you expect people to notice it and give you credit for it?" Neville looked embarrassed, and Ginny added, "And dancing at your own birthday party would be a nice way to show your guests that you appreciate that they're here to share your special day with you."

Neville sighed: he wouldn't be thinking any more serious thoughts tonight, and he was starting to have less problems with that idea_. Time enough to worry about things tomorrow morning _He looked over at Ginny and replied quietly, "The last time I was at a party like this, I trampled all over the feet of the beautiful girl who was nice enough to accept my invitation to the ball, and she had a miserable time of it. I always felt bad about that."

Ginny blushed, then sighed and responded, "Well, you didn't do any permanent damage—and I didn't have such an awful time, Neville—if you remember, I kept going out on the dance floor with you: that should have told you something." Neville looked at her in surprise, and Ginny took his arm and added, "How about giving it another try? You seem a lot more graceful than you were then." She led him out onto the dance floor, and Neville did not resist in the slightest.

The new couple on the dance floor did not escape the notice of the group of Quidditch players across the Hall, and Harry turned to Dean—who had wandered over with a Butterbeer to listen to the Quidditch talk—and asked, "Do you mind that Neville is dancing with your girlfriend?"

Dean shrugged. "Would it matter if I did? You know Ginny—I'm not about to tell her she can't dance with someone." He grinned and added, "Besides—Neville's a good bloke, but we all know he hasn't got what Ginny's looking for in a guy."

"You don't say." Dean froze at the sound of the new voice, and realized that he should have paid more attention to who was nearby. Ron stepped over and continued with an almost Snape-like scowl on his face: "And what exactly do you think my sister finds irresistible about you, Dean?"

Dean felt a chill, and resolved to seriously reconsider his current relationship with Ginny as he contemplated her visibly annoyed brother. He opened his mouth, then saw two house elves bring in a large platter and saw an escape possibility: "Look—cheesecake!" He walked away quickly, trying not to look as if he was fleeing.

Harry looked over at Ron—who was still looking in Dean's direction—and asked quietly, "You haven't turned evil on us, have you? One Snape is enough for Hogwarts."

Viktor and Oliver laughed as Ron recoiled slightly, and it was a moment before the redhead relaxed and replied, "I just didn't like the way he sounded, that's all."

Harry smirked, then looked out at Neville and Ginny as they danced and commented, "I'm beginning to realize why I never fell for Ginny—it was knowing that I'd have to sleep in the same room as her suspicious and vengeful brother afterwards."

"Am I interrupting something, boys?"

Harry and Ron turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and their eyes widened in unison. Hermione had gone up to her room to change—and she had not come back wearing robes. She wore a black evening dress much like the one Harry had seen Amanda Davis in, though it did not look quite as expensive and the dress Hermione wore included sleeves made of a translucent fabric that Harry had seen before, but couldn't remember the name of. She had clearly resorted to Sleekeazy's Hair Potion again, as her hair was straight and glossy and done up in an elaborate arrangement that her normal bushy hair would never have permitted. The dress revealed far more of her figure than even her casual Muggle clothes ever did, and even Oliver found himself checking her out before he decided in favor of proper decorum for an older visiting wizard. Hermione's eyes glittered in amusement as she noticed the shocked reaction of her best friends, and a wicked grin appeared on her face as she asked, "I did tell you I was going up to change, right?"

It took Harry a moment to look over at Hermione, shrug, and comment, "You might have mentioned it."

Hermione nodded, and looked over at Viktor as she asked, "Would you mind if I borrowed Viktor for a little while? I haven't had a chance to really talk to him since he arrived."

Harry hesitated—for some reason he really didn't want Hermione going off alone with Viktor—and Ron was the one who shook his head and replied, "Go ahead—we can use the time to plot strategy."

Everyone chuckled, and Viktor bowed to the others and called out, "I vill see you later, gentlemen," before letting Hermione take his arm and lead him out of the Great Hall.

After the two had disappeared, Ron commented that his Butterbeer was empty and walked over to the drinks table. When he was out of earshot, a new voice complained, "That's all the reaction we get for that! No jealous temper tantrum or even a good scowl? We spent an hour helping her get ready!"

Harry and the others turned to see Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown looking at Ron with irritated expressions. Harry took a moment to be grateful that Gryffindor's resident social butterflies hadn't bothered to note the expression on his face before turning around and asking, "You helped make Hermione up tonight? Why?"

"She had transfigured that dress to look just right, and used the hair potion, but she's hopeless with makeup—we knew that a few subtle touches would create the perfect effect." Lavender replied, shaking her head and walking closer to Harry as she added, "Everyone knows that she and Ron are crazy for each other—they just need a push. Or so we thought—what's wrong with that boy? It'd serve him right if Viktor decides to sweep her off her feet and take her back to Bulgaria with him!"

Harry managed to keep from grinding his teeth and looked at Parvati before commenting with a slight edge in his voice, "Why do you care, anyway? I saw the way you looked at Hermione the night of the Yule Ball—you were both jealous of her."

Parvati raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic tone in Harry's voice and replied, "I'd like to think we've grown up a little since then, Harry—and Hermione's done a lot for this school: giving her and your thick-headed friend a little nudge without telling them what we're doing is the least we can do for them." Harry frowned, feeling a bit guilty about his initial reaction, and was about to open his mouth to apologize when Parvati added, "Besides, I had a right to be jealous of Hermione that night—she had a date who noticed that she existed."

Harry paled, and this time the guilt was visible on his face and audible in his voice as he muttered, "You're right, of course—would you excuse me, please?" He turned and retreated to a snack table at the corner of the Hall, and began stacking up a plate without looking at anyone else.

Parvati blinked at the reaction, then sighed. "Oh bother, I didn't mean to hurt his feelings." She turned to Lavender and nodded in Harry's direction. They wandered over to the table, and before long Oliver and the rest of the group could see that the two girls had managed to make Harry laugh, and they followed up with friendly hugs.

Oliver laughed at the reconciliation and commented, "Hermione's makeover certainly had an impact here tonight—I have to admit that it's unsettling to see her like that, when it seems like only yesterday she was a little first-year getting rescued from that troll by Harry and Ron."

"You think it's bad for you? Hermione has been coming to our house for years now—it's been like having another little sister around." Fred spoke for both the twins—as George was occupied with chewing a piece of cake—and shook his head as he added, "It's been bloody obvious for over a year now that Hermione was going to be gorgeous—Ron's just too thick to notice. If he won't, someone's going to have to step up and make sure she marries into the—"

The sound of feminine throat clearing was heard, and Fred paled and turned to George, whose expression positively shouted 'You idiot." Fred swallowed and turned to Angelina—who looked lovely in her red dress robe—and assumed his most innocent expression as he asked, "Yes, my love?"

"Don't 'yes, my love' me, you prat." Angelina replied, shaking her head in irritation. "Is this how you spend your time when I'm not around—staring at underage witches and plotting how to get them married into your family?"

George snickered, then yelped as Alicia Spinnet smacked him on the arm and snapped, "What are you laughing at? You were thinking the same thing."

"Was not!" retorted George. Alicia looked at him with a thoroughly disbelieving expression, and George flushed and muttered, "Well, at least I wasn't thick enough to say anything about it." Alicia scowled, and George hastily added, "Besides, it wouldn't have to be one of us. If Percy ever stops being such a traitorous git and comes to his senses, he might be fine for her. Charlie could use a smart, pretty witch to keep him from spending too much time with those dragons. Bill might decide that he'd like to settle down with a nice English girl instead of that French Veela. Or Harry might—"

"Harry's as bad as Ron, George—hasn't even noticed his best friend has grown up to be quite the lovely witch." Fred interjected, looking over at his twin and shaking his head. "Maybe he'll marry Ginny once she stops breaking hearts in the rest of Hogwarts—but he's never going to end up with Hermione." The twins heard snickers coming from their girlfriends—who had been looking at Harry while Hermione had been there—and turned to see the amusement on their faces. In unison they asked, "What?"

"Nothing," replied Alicia.

"Nothing at all," added Angelina.

"Just promise us that you'll never change," both witches concluded in unison.

Fred and George looked at each other, realizing they had dodged a major fight with their girlfriends, but not knowing how or why. They smiled and walked over to Alicia and Angelina, leading them out to the dance floor.

* * *

Hermione and Viktor were alone in the courtyard, and the sounds of celebration in the Great Hall could only be heard faintly as they walked to a ornately carved stone bench and sat down. Hermione was quite glad to finally get a moment alone with Viktor, and she was surprised to see him looking visibly uncomfortable. She looked over at him and asked quietly, "Are you all right? I didn't drag you away from anything important, did I?" 

Viktor shook his head. "No—I spend far too much of my time talking about Quidditch in any event—and I believe that ve had covered most of the topics regarding the upcoming match at Hogvarts. It is just—there is something that I must tell you, and I am not certain how to do it."

Hermione's eyes widened in curiosity. They were no longer a couple—if they ever truly had been—and their correspondence had been more or less normal for two good friends separated by distance. She smiled softly at him and joked, "Just saying it usually works pretty well, Viktor. You know I'll keep a secret, if that's what you want."

Viktor frowned and nodded before replying, "Actually, just showing you vould probably vork best." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a photograph, handing it to Hermione. Hermione looked at the photo, and saw Viktor kneeling before a tall, remarkably lovely blonde witch who appeared to be in her mid-twenties. His lips were moving, and Hermione saw the witch's eyes widen in surprise before she smiled and nodded quickly. Viktor reached into a pocket and pulled out a diamond ring, slipping it onto the witch's finger just before the scene reset and began again.

Hermione blinked, then embraced Viktor tightly as she began firing questions at him: "Who is she? How long have you been seeing her? When is the wedding?" She pulled away and saw that Viktor looked bemused from the barrage of questions, and she took a deep breath before whispering, "Oh, Viktor—I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you, Hermione—I knew that you vould be." Viktor smiled at Hermione and paused for a moment before continuing, "Her name is Irina Gordieva—she has been teaching Transfiguration at Durmstrang for the past three years. Ve began seeing each other last fall, after my graduation."

"You never mentioned her in your letters." Hermione was a little hurt at the omission, though she made sure she didn't show it in her expression or tone—she knew she had no right to be angry with Viktor for having personal secrets.

"I vasn't sure vere things vere going vith Irina—she is very dedicated to her vork, and I believe she vas somevat uncomfortable vith being involved vith someone who had so recently been a student of hers," Viktor replied, shaking his head slightly. He grinned and added, "Fortunately—I vas able to persuade her to accept my arguments to the contrary."

"That's wonderful, Viktor." Hermione was happy to see her friend moving on—and that he had found a good match for himself. "Am I going to get an invitation to the wedding?"

"Of course—and assuming that ve both survive the upcoming match, I vill invite Harry as vell." Hermione cringed a bit at the dark humor from Viktor, and was taken off guard by his next comment: "I should varn you, though—Irina tends to be a bit jealous. I vould advise you to be careful ven meeting her."

Hermione blinked, then laughed as she replied, "Viktor, why in the world would that beautiful, talented older woman be threatened by a fifteen year old schoolgirl?"

Viktor paused, then stared into Hermione's eyes as he whispered, "Hermione, I suspect that you are—how do you say it here—ah yes, 'fishing for a compliment.'" Hermione blushed, and Viktor nodded gravely and added, "Hermione—I never saw you as 'just a schoolgirl.' Vith the events at the English Ministry of Magic becoming the most vell-known news event in our vorld—I doubt anyone else ever vill again, either."

Hermione shivered at the earnestness in Viktor's eyes, and was relieved when Viktor laughed and said, "Hermione—I am very much in love vith Irina, and have no interest in pursuing anyone else, no matter how extraordinary she is. However—I must confess that I am not above taking advantage of the fact that Irina knew that I happen to know a remarkable young vitch who vill one day soon be of age to marry, and being villing to let that help convince her that an early and short engagement is a superior plan to a long and delayed one."

Hermione chuckled and replied, "I suppose I can live with that—there's something vaguely enjoyable about being 'the other woman' without doing anything wrong." She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Viktor—you told me when you asked me to the ball that you had been coming to the library trying to work up the courage to approach me. I never asked what made you notice me in the first place. I was so young then—and there were any number of bright, beautiful older witches at Hogwarts who would have given their wand arm to be with you."

Viktor nodded. "I thought you vould ask me this question someday—and I have had time to consider my answer in a vay that makes sense in vords. At the time, it vas more feelings than thoughts, if you know vat I mean." Hermione waited, and Viktor began, "As you know, the champions vere exempted from their year-end examinations—and arrangements had already been made for me to take our equivalent of your NEWT examinations during the summer, after my return to Durmstrang. However, I believe in rigorous preparation, and I saw no reason not to take advantage of the legendary library at Hogvarts vile studying. Since I did not have Quidditch as a demand on my time during that year—unlike my previous years at Durmstrang—it gave me plenty of time to spend in the library. My first memory of you is of a beautiful pair of brown eyes framed by a remarkable head of bushy hair, peering over a large book and glaring in my direction—probably because of the large number of silly girls surrounding me and trying to get my attention." Hermione flushed, muttered something, and nodded tersely. Viktor smiled softly at her and continued: "I vas annoyed for a moment—it vasn't as if I vas trying to disturb the peace of the library—but I vas distracted by the realization that you vere there as much as I vas, if not more so, which I found remarkable for someone who vas obviously not even preparing for her fifth-year examinations yet. I started vatching you out of curiosity, and I saw someone whose passion for knowledge burned as strongly as my passion for flying, and I also saw that you shared that passion freely—you offered help to those who came to you, and I remember you telling me that you helped Harry cast that excellent Summoning Charm that vas the key to his performance during the first task. Yes, you vere young, and perhaps there vere young women at Hogvarts who vere more beautiful—at least for the present—but I knew that I vanted to meet you and spend time vith you more than anyone I knew there. I am pleased that my unintentional disruption of your studies did not cause you to send me avay ven I finally summoned the courage to speak to you."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments before saying simply, "Viktor—I'm sorry. I didn't know you then, and you _were_ Harry's rival—"

"I know," interrupted Viktor. "Your friendship vith Harry vas one of the most important things the students I asked about you mentioned—and it has remained so. Harry is someone vell vorth being loyal to, and your irritation did me no harm."

Hermione nodded, and said, "I'm glad it doesn't bother you—and it is rather nice to hear how you perceived me back then—I felt like a freak sometimes back then, even around Harry and Ron."

Viktor smiled, then asked, "You know—I never asked vy you said 'yes' to me, Hermione. As you said, I vas Harry's rival, and you certainly veren't star-struck like your classmates at Hogvarts."

Hermione flushed slightly, then replied, "Well, I can be excused for being a _little_ star-struck when an international Quidditch star and Tri-Wizard Champion asks me to the ball—as opposed to simply seeing him walk down the hallway." Viktor laughed, and Hermione grinned back at him before her expression turned downcast and she muttered, "Besides, saying yes to you was a lot better than waiting for either of my best friends to actually notice that I was a girl."

Viktor frowned, then brightened and replied, "From the expressions on their faces tonight—I sincerely doubt they are still ignorant of that undeniable fact." Hermione smiled at the compliment, and Viktor stood and offered her his arm. "Vould you like to go back inside? I vant to dance."

Hermione nodded, and they walked back inside, leaving the courtyard empty as the sun set.

* * *

Dean nodded at Harry's last comment, and watched his friend walk back to where Oliver and the Weasley twins were standing before he nodded to Seamus and they both walked over to where Professor Dumbledore was standing. The ancient wizard turned away from Professor McGonagall and smiled at the two Gryffindors as he asked, "Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?" 

"Yes, sir," replied Dean. "We've been talking with Harry about the match, and we've had some ideas that might make the match a bigger public event and allow more money-raising for the causes it will be funding."

Dumbledore looked at the two students intently, and he gestured casually behind him—causing Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sinistra to move closer. Dean and Seamus blinked at the new, larger audience, but they kept their cool as Professor Dumbledore invited, "Go ahead, Mr. Thomas."

Dean coughed self-consciously, then began, "Harry told us that he had found out that Omniocular replays of Quidditch games with famous and popular players are very valuable, and are sometimes worth hundreds of galleons."

"I've heard that too," remarked Professor McGonagall. "There are charms at the major stadiums—and here at Hogwarts—that prevent the duplication of such replays, but there's nothing stopping an individual from selling his or her own replay. There are only so many of those, which is why the price is so high."

Dean nodded, "I guessed that it might be something like that. As you know, both Seamus and I are familiar with the muggle world, and how muggles promote their own sporting events. The most popular sport in the muggle world—except for a few odd places like America—is football, or soccer as the Americans call it. The Americans have their own favorite sports—American rules football, baseball and basketball. All of these are seen often on the muggle media device known as television."

"Yes—I've seen television a few times: it is quite remarkable. Amazing what muggles can do without magic sometimes." Professor Flitwick interrupted, looking interested.

Dean nodded, and continued, "The muggles use technology to broadcast these games that creates permanent records much like Omniocular replays—and they use the input from multiple video cameras—the muggle equivalent of Omnioculars—to create one best set of images from the game, so that they are not limited to the view from one particular camera in showing the game. What Harry, Seamus, and I were wondering is if we could do something similar with magic to create large numbers of replays of the match at Hogwarts to sell at a price that most wizards and witches could afford, and to show replays from Omnioculars on the large blackboard that Harry showed us would be in the stadium design, to allow everyone at the game to see the most exciting plays close up just after they happen, and without having to miss the rest of the game by concentrating on a particular player at the time with Omnioculars."

The four professors looked at each other, then back at Dean. Professor Dumbledore smiled and shook his head as he exclaimed, "Marvelous idea, Mr. Thomas! I believe it would be a valuable addition to our efforts here. Harry's plate is rather full at the moment, and it will take a few days for Professors McGonagall and Flitwick to come up with appropriate spells to create the effects that you describe. You are scheduled to go back home tomorrow, I believe—would you and Mr. Finnegan be willing to collect all the information you have on Muggle television sports and owl it back to us with any comments you believe might be useful? We will, of course, be sure to let everyone know whose idea this was, and make sure it is made part of your permanent school records."

Dean turned to Seamus—who looked a bit shell-shocked—then back to Professor Dumbledore before replying, "We'd be glad to, sir. Thanks for letting us help."

Dumbledore nodded, and the two Gryffindors walked away, talking about what they'd be sending back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore turned back to McGonagall and saw the glitter of pride in her eyes, then looked over to where Harry was talking with Oliver and the twins, then to where Hermione was dancing with Viktor. He smiled, then turned back to his conversation with the other professors.

* * *

It was just past nine, and Harry could see that some of the younger party guests were beginning to tire. He caught Professor Dumbledore's eye and nodded, and Dumbledore waved his wand—causing the dance music to fade out. Harry walked to the front of the Hall, and called out, "If I could have everyone's attention, please?" Everyone turned to face Harry—who took out his own wand and pointed it at his throat before intoning quietly: "_Sonorus Omnibus_." Professor Flitwick was close enough to hear the incantation, and he beamed with pride as Harry began to speak—and everyone in the Great Hall heard Harry's voice as if he were standing next to them and speaking normally: "Thank you all again for coming tonight. It's getting later, and while the party will be going on for some time to come, I thought I should talk to you now, so that those who are ready to get some sleep can do so." Harry saw some grateful smiles from the younger students, and hastened to continue: "While I have enjoyed the company here of old friends—" Harry met Remus' eyes and smiled before continuing, "—as well as some new friends—" Harry looked over at Tonks, who looked lovely with golden-blonde hair, violet eyes, and a red dress robe, "—and family—" Harry looked over to where the Weasleys were standing, and felt a little sad that Percy had not accepted his invitation to talk about recent events, "—I would like to speak specifically tonight to those of us who managed to make it through the last year at Hogwarts together. It was a difficult time, but we all made it through together. The Daily Prophet has written a lot about the difficulties that I and a few of my friends went through during that time—but it was the whole school that suffered as a result of the mistakes of others, and it was the school that won in the end. I know that I speak for those of us in the DA—and those of us who were at the Ministry last month—when I say 'Thank you,' to all who had the courage to fight—each in your own way—the evil that found its way into the halls of Hogwarts." 

The guests murmured, and Harry nodded and continued, "It's not just that Umbridge is gone—though I'm certainly glad that her new problems mean that she won't have the time or the influence to send Dementors after me any more." A few people gasped, and Harry realized that particular revelation must not have made it to the pages of _The Daily Prophet_ yet. He shrugged, a bit embarrassed, then continued: "Umbridge was cruel and stupid, and she did terrible things to any student who dared to openly stand up to her—but that wasn't the worst part of what she did. As a wise English muggle once said, 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' Umbridge—and her superiors at the Ministry—were willing to see a whole generation of Hogwarts students receive incompetent training at Defense Against the Dark Arts to allow them to continue pretending that Voldemort hadn't returned. If they had been allowed to succeed, the price would have been a lot of dead wizards and witches later on. The DA was our answer to that problem, and it did its job—and I am eternally grateful to everyone who was willing to follow Hermione's lead and face terrible consequences to allow it to happen." He looked over at Hermione, and saw that her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, though a smile was on her face.

Harry paused—this next part was going to be difficult. He took a deep breath, and began again, "Those of you who were there when the DA was founded will remember that I wasn't. . .well, too enthusiastic about the whole thing at first. Even now, I suspect that some of you don't quite understand why I felt that way." He looked at Zacharias Smith—who had admitted to Harry that he wasn't sure why Harry had invited him to the party, given their sparring in the DA—then continued, "I spent most of my early life with Muggles, for reasons that all of you are aware of. Aside from the fact that they were and are nasty people that no one would want to spend much time with, I always had the sense that I didn't really belong there—and it wasn't until I saw my acceptance letter from Hogwarts that I knew why. Problem was, when I got here I didn't really feel like I belonged here, either—though there were enough good things here to keep me from worrying too much about that for a while. I had come right into the middle of a world that had a completely different way of doing things—it was like opening a storybook in the middle and trying to follow what was going on. Of course, there are a lot of muggleborn students here who had to go through the same thing—but the problem in my case was that a lot of the time, the things I had walked into the middle of and knew nothing about had to do with me." There was more murmuring, and Harry went on: "It's a bit unsettling to go from living in a closet under the stairs, to a place where people are staring at the little scar on your forehead and looking at you as if you've just won the World Quidditch Cup for England—and when things kept happening, they were usually connected in some way with me being The Boy Who Lived. I'd be very dead right now if I hadn't had the support of a lot of wonderful people—you all know who you are. So when Hermione and some of the rest of you approached me and asked me to help run the DA, it scared me a little—I didn't want you to think I was something that I wasn't. I didn't have all the answers—I still don't, and I'm fairly certain that I never will. But what I've decided is that what I can do is be willing to help—as best I can and as much as I can. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't intend to have any fun the next two years—and Ginny's going to have to get used to playing Chaser, because the position of Gryffindor Seeker is taken, thank you very much." Ginny smiled at him, and the rest of the Gryffindors broke into spontaneous applause. Cho threw a mock glare at him, then winked.

Harry waited for the demonstrations to die down, then continued, "Cho and Seamus spoke well today about the gift of knowledge, and the value in cooperating with others. I hope the DA will grow even larger in the new year at Hogwarts, and—in the spirit of the song of the Sorting Hat last September—I hope some of the new members will come from the part of Hogwarts that is, for the most part, not represented here tonight."

Harry heard some muttering in the audience, and noted that Professor Snape—who had been listening with the customary sneer on his face—sat up a little straighter in his chair as Harry continued, "I've never been too fond of Slytherin House—and I think I've had pretty good reasons for feeling that way." The crowd muttered in agreement, and Harry saw Snape's lip curl as he went on, "But this fight is too important to turn away potential allies without keeping an open mind about them, and I have good reason to know that belonging to a certain House is no certain sign of whether they are good or evil."

Harry saw the looks on the faces of his guests, and knew that they had seen the reports in _The Daily Prophet_ about the innocence of Sirius Black—and the treachery of Peter Pettigrew. He nodded grimly and added, "I followed the example of my good friend Hermione and did some research. During the time of Voldemort's last rise to power, fully one-third of the Aurors in England were Hogwarts graduates from Slytherin House—and almost half the Auror fatalities suffered before his downfall were also Slytherins. I see no reason to believe that things are different now. I'm not saying we should trust them blindly—but we need to be ready to listen. Any one of them or us could be crucial in the fight to come, and we can't afford to send them away without keeping an open mind. We all know the stereotypes about our houses, and we've seen that there's more to us than those old, uncomplicated words such as courage, brains, and loyalty. We are all wizards and witches—each with our own gifts to contribute to the cause. Let us offer them freely, and with determination to succeed in spite of what some would say are daunting odds." Harry looked out at the guests—who were watching him raptly—and smiled before concluding, "Thank you all again for coming. Professor Dumbledore, would you care to restart the music?"

Dumbledore complied with a smile, but few people seemed interested in dancing at that moment. Harry was swarmed by his fellow students, who clapped him on the back, shook his hand, and gave him hugs. Harry patiently bore all of it—though after a while he was feeling a bit battered—and waited for the bulk of the crowd to either head out of the Great Hall to sleep, or to head back to the dance floor or the buffet tables. After about ten minutes, there were only the five friends who had come to Hogwarts with him earlier in the summer, and Harry didn't bother to hide his relief as he turned to them. Neville shook his hand firmly and whispered, "Fine speech, Harry," before slipping away, ignoring Ginny's concerned stare after him. Luna smiled mysteriously at him, but was silent. Ginny hugged him firmly, then left quietly. Ron gave him a quick grin before moving off, surprising Harry—who expected that he'd put up more of a fuss at the idea of Slytherins in the DA. Hermione waited for the last, and hugged him for a long time, whispering, "Oh, Harry—that was wonderful. I know you hate that sort of thing—"

"Well, you've been a bad influence on me, obviously," Harry replied with a deadpan expression. Hermione laughed, and Harry had an unfamiliar impulse. "Would you like to dance?"

Hermione nodded, and they walked to the dance floor, thoughts of the future of Hogwarts momentarily set aside.

Neville watched his two friends dance and sighed. He had been quite glad to let Harry take the forefront in rallying the students to the cause of opposing Voldemort, though he approved completely and intended to do what he could to help the cause. He was wondering about how to best make his excuses and go to get a good night's rest when a dark figure moved up next to him. Neville turned to Professor Snape and said, "Yes, sir?"

"This would be a good time to spirit you away to the infirmary to prepare your cover story and get you ready for the stress the donations will put on you, Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Potter's unexpected display of oratorical skills seems to have your classmates distracted." Snape sounded somewhat distracted, and Neville knew that the Potions Professor would not like to have pointed out to him that he had just paid Harry a compliment, however backhanded. "Are you ready to depart?"

Neville nodded. "Yes sir." They departed through a side entrance in the hall, and neither of them noticed the pair of brown eyes watching them suspiciously as the door closed behind them.

* * *

"What do you mean Neville's sick—he looked fine last night!" Hermione frowned in concern as she looked up at Professor Dumbledore's composed expression. They were all in the Great Hall—which had resumed its normal appearance after the party the night before—and had just seen off the party guests on the train before coming back for the morning meal and discovering that Neville was not there. 

"Apparently, he took ill after he left the party to retire for the night. He managed to make it to the infirmary without assistance, and Madam Pomfrey examined him and was able to determine what was wrong with him. She decided to immediately have him transferred to St. Mungo's, and I assisted in the process. Apparently, he will need to be in total isolation for several days—you will not be able to visit him."

"Total isolation—what's wrong with him, Professor?" Harry thought ahead, and realized that another trip to the infirmary for him could have catastrophic consequences to the charity game. "Is it contagious?"

"He has Nile Valley Soul Fever," Madam Pomfrey came into view, looking tired but not worried. Hermione's brow knitted, and Pomfrey elaborated, "It's a very obscure disease—there are only two or three mediwitches in Great Britain who could recognize the symptoms. Mr. Longbottom will need four or five days of total bed rest and massive doses of Blood Replenishing Potion—and he will need complete privacy during that time. He will be in a sealed ward at St. Mungo's until he is deemed healthy and released." She noted the worry on the other faces in the room and added, "The rest of you are fine—I cast a detection ward at the entrance of the Great Hall, and none of you registered as being infected. Wherever he caught it—he didn't give it to any of you. I also checked the departing party guests, and none of them will get sick, either."

"That's a lucky break," commented Ron. "It's a shame about Neville, though. He was having fun here, and those dueling practices with Harry were wicked. Hope he'll be all right in time for the match."

"There are provisions for getting messages to sealed wards—I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you sent him some letters during his confinement." Dumbledore spoke gently, and was pleased to see the nods coming from his students. They went back to their seats to eat breakfast, and Dumbledore likewise turned back to his own seat—causing him to miss the now even-greater suspicion in the eyes of one of those students before they turned their attention to their meal.

* * *

Hermione looked over the top of the Transfiguration text in front of her and frowned. Their routine for the morning had mostly remained the same, in spite of Neville's enforced absence. Harry was in the air over the Quidditch pitch—Oliver had remained and was there with him and two other members of Puddlemere United—and Ginny had joined them at Harry's request. Ron was poring over a Charms text—some of the gifts that Neville and Harry had received the day before had attracted his attention, and he was reviewing some of the charms that had been used in their construction. Luna had perched next to him and was leaning over his shoulder, pointing to a particular passage. Ron nodded, and Hermione watched the two of them discussing the charm as she raised an eyebrow. _They look so comfortable together—he was almost terrified of her last year_. She dismissed the thought and looked up at Harry and felt a burst of warmth as she saw the bliss on his face as he soared high above the pitch. _He was so amazing last night, and now he's doing something he loves more than anything. I hope things keep going right for him_. 

Hermione blinked a tear away, then looked back down to where Ron and Luna were sitting—and saw something that shocked her to the core.

Meanwhile, Harry was flying along, effortlessly dodging the Bludgers that the Puddlemere United Beaters were sending his way. He was feeling wonderful, and he was flying better than he ever had before. He dared a glance below and saw that Ginny was holding her own against Oliver in the scoring exercise he was conducting for her. _She'll be a great replacement for one of the graduating Chasers this year—we can't lose_.

Harry did a high-speed loop to evade a Bludger, and was contemplating the best way to evade the next one when he saw something that made him stop in flight and stare—only reacting enough otherwise to reflexively cast a wandless Banishing Charm that caused the oncoming Bludger to veer off sharply and burrow deep into the turf below, causing Professor Dumbledore (who was watching from his office window) to blink in shock and send a quick owl to Professor Flitwick--in complete disbelief.

Ron had put down his Charms book, and was kissing Luna Lovegood with a great deal of energy and enthusiasm—and Luna didn't seem to mind in the least. Harry heard a caught breath from below, and realized that Ginny had seen the spectacle. He felt a chill, and looked over to where Hermione was sitting.

Hermione was already standing—her eyes firmly fixed on the scene in front of her—by the time Harry spotted her. Without a word, she turned and quietly slipped out of the stands.

Harry cursed under his breath and turned long enough to call, "Be back in a bit, Oliver!" before flying down to the stands and landing. Ron and Luna came up for air and looked at Harry, and Harry was caught in a moment of total ambivalence. It was obvious now what girl Ron had been talking about—as unlikely as it would have seemed only a few months before—and he was genuinely happy for both of his friends. But Hermione. . . He locked eyes with Ron and managed a half-smile before exclaiming in exasperation, "Oh, bloody hell, Ron!" and running after Hermione.

Ron watched him go, and began to stand. "Maybe I should go after them—"

Luna shook her head and smiled. "Trust him, Ronald. Trust both of them. They know what to do, or they will."

Ron blinked and shook his head in bewilderment. "You know that I really don't understand you a lot of the time, right?"

Luna nodded, her eyes as dreamy as ever. "I know, Ronald. I know." She leaned over and kissed him again, and Ron decided that his friends would have to fend for themselves for the moment.

. . . to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired


	5. Ch 5

Chapter Five

Harry took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. He left his broom leaning against one of the benches in the stands—knowing that no one currently at Hogwarts would steal or tamper with his Firebolt—and calmly walked along the path back to the castle. He found Hermione standing alone in the courtyard, dry-eyed but visibly upset. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and her eyes widened in surprise as she said, "What are you doing here, Harry? You were two hundred feet in the air the last time I saw you."

Harry sighed and led Hermione to a nearby spot under a tree, where they sat down and got comfortable before Harry shook his head and replied softly, "Hermione, there were only three people in the stands watching. Two stopped paying attention, and the other one left. I was pretty sure the ones who stopped paying attention were all right on their own."

Hermione looked at Harry and stared for a long moment before commenting, "That has to be one of the great euphemisms of all time, Harry." Harry smiled slightly, and Hermione locked eyes with him and asked bluntly, "You knew, didn't you? About me and Ron and—"

"—and that you two were doing the mating dance for the past two years without admitting it to each other? Yeah, Ginny clued me in after the Yule Ball—and the fact that she had to is proof that I'm as thick as they come as far as that kind of thing goes." Harry admitted, watching Hermione blush crimson at his words. "Oliver found out when Parvati told us that she helped make you up to try to make Ron jealous. I'm pretty sure that those Puddlemere United players didn't know until Ron and Luna started snogging and you left suddenly. As for everyone else. . .it was pretty much out there. If it helps, from what Parvati and Lavender were telling me about the school gossip mill, most everyone outside of Slytherin was hoping you two would get together. Which is probably a big reason why there haven't been more guys chasing you, Hermione. It certainly isn't because you're not worth chasing."

Hermione blinked, and a few tears appeared as she whispered, "That's sweet, Harry—but I don't need a pep talk right now. . .I'm just trying to understand why I didn't see this coming, and why I didn't just admit to Ron that we weren't going to make a go of it before this happened. It would have been easier on both of us."

Harry blinked, startled by the moment of deja-vu. He frowned and asked, "Are you saying that you had decided that you two wouldn't be dating too?"

Hermione flinched, and her eyes flashed with momentary anger before she calmed down and asked quietly, "Are you saying you knew this was coming? Was he seeing Luna already?"

Harry hesitated for a moment—not out of fear or guilt, but because he was not sure how much he could repeat without betraying Ron's privacy. He frowned again, then replied, "I knew he was interested in someone. He didn't tell me who it was, and he wasn't sure she felt anything for him. As for the rest. . .Hermione, Ron thinks the world of you. He knows you're going on to do amazing things that the world will remember for a long, long time. He doesn't think he's the right person to stand at your side and help you do that. It hurt him to tell me that—but I think he needed me to understand that, and maybe hoped that I would tell you that truth for him. If I'm wrong, he's probably going to give me a good punch in the jaw for doing it."

Hermione laughed, and there was bitterness in the sound of it. "That's just perfect, Harry. We couldn't even agree on why we didn't belong together." She turned away, and Harry reached out and squeezed one of her hands and waited for her to speak again. She didn't turn to face him again, but he could hear her whisper again: "I've been so hard on him over the years. He's growing up to be a good man, Harry—he deserves to find someone who appreciates that and won't nag him to death trying to make him something he's not. I was afraid that if we started seeing each other. . .we'd end up having that one fight that we'd never forgive each other for. I'd decided that I couldn't live with that, and was trying to figure out a way to tell him. . .but it still hurts knowing why I won't have to."

Harry squeezed her hand again. "I'm sorry, Hermione." He saw the defeated slump in her shoulders, and something inside him demanded that he do something to make that look go away. He thought furiously, and after a moment he brightened and said, "Listen, Hermione. Neville's going to be gone for almost a week—almost until the day of the match. Ginny's going off for a few days with Dean and his parents. Ron and Luna—well, they're going to be busy with each other, aren't they?"

Hermione turned to face Harry, and he could see irritation in her eyes. "Why yes, Harry—they will be, and thank you for pointing it out so bluntly." Harry blinked and looked guilty, and Hermione sighed at the reaction and said, "All right, Harry—what are you trying to say?"

"I won't be busy afternoons with dueling practice with Neville any more, and everyone else will be busy with one thing or another. Spend the next few afternoons with me—we'll find things to do that we've never done before. Professor Dumbledore will probably want to put security around us if we go out—but I don't care about that." Harry's voice was determined, and Hermione shivered a little as he looked at her with an equally determined expression and added, "I want to spend some quality time with my best friend, and I don't care if I have to make a spectacle out of myself to do it." Hermione stared at him, and Harry pressed on: "Now, I know you'll have to give up your afternoon study sessions, but you just got twenty bloody OWLs, Hermione! I think you can afford to miss a few afternoons of studying—"

"You're right—let's do it." Hermione spoke softly, and there was something unidentifiable in her expression as she replied to Harry and waited for him to react.

"Damn it, Hermione! The library isn't going anywhere. You need to take a few days and relax—" Harry stopped suddenly as he registered the amusement in Hermione's eyes. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Let's do it,' Harry." The amusement in Hermione's eyes could now be heard in her voice, and Harry shuffled his feet in mild embarrassment as Hermione added, "Did you think it would be that hard for you to talk me into it, Harry? I'm not completely impervious to the concept of fun, you know." She smiled at him, and Harry involuntarily smiled back at her as Hermione asked, "Are you sure though, Harry? You're right—we've attracted enough attention going out as a group. If we go out together, some people will come to the wrong conclusions."

"Well, we can have the Order screen your mail for the next few months—" Hermione winced at the memory of the aftermath of Rita Skeeter's article as Harry continued, "and it's entirely possible that it will become widely known that I'm spending a lot of time in public with the smartest witch at Hogwarts. How tragic that would be for me."

Hermione giggled involuntarily, then hugged Harry. "You're becoming awfully sarcastic, Harry—but for some reason it comes out very sweet." Harry hugged Hermione back, and moved away from her far enough to see the smile on her face as she added, "All right, Harry—you've got your partner in crime. What do you want to do first?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought that far ahead yet. He was rescued by the sound of footsteps, and they both stood up as Ron and Luna walked up the path to them. Ron looked guilty: Luna looked calm. Harry moved around to stand next to Luna, and Ron hesitantly walked forward to stand in front of Hermione, who looked at him quietly with a placid expression. After a few moments of silence, Ron swallowed hard and said, "I'm sorry, Hermione—I didn't mean for that to happen in front of you. Sometimes I can be a bloody idiot."

Hermione looked at him appraisingly and replied, "Well yes—sometimes you can be." Ron flinched, and was searching for something else to say when Hermione added, "But you more than make up for it most of the time, Ron." Ron's jaw dropped, and Hermione smiled slightly as she added, "I'm all right, Ron. We should talk about this sometime, though—I want to make sure we understand where we stand with each other." Ron nodded numbly, and Hermione inclined her head and concluded, "Now, I believe you have a new girlfriend to get acquainted with. Harry and I will be busy getting into mischief without you."

Harry was about to snicker at Ron's wide-eyed reaction to Hermione's calm acceptance of his new situation, but he was distracted by Luna's quiet words to him:

"I've done my part, Harry. It's your turn now."

Harry turned to face Luna, his eyes demanding an explanation. She was already leaving, with Ron on her arm and a secret smile on her face. Harry almost went after them, but remembered that Hermione was still waiting for him. He sighed in mild frustration, then turned back to Hermione. They had an afternoon to plan for.

* * *

Neville felt dizzy, and settled back further into the soft pillow on his hospital bed. He felt the needle coming out of his arm, and saw the healer come over and tap the place where it had been with his wand, healing it instantly. Neville sighed, and the healer smiled at him and said quietly, "Time to drink your Blood Replenishing Potion and rest for a while until it has time to work, Neville."

Neville accepted the potion without argument and drank it down in one long draft. The healer nodded approvingly and called out, "Severus, the first two pints of blood are ready for you."

"Thank you, Miranda." Professor Snape came into view and accepted the large bottle from the healer. He walked over to a device that had Neville staring in fascination: an elaborate network of tubes and filters that terminated in a drip positioned over a small bottle. Neville watched as Snape attached the bottle of blood to a tube, and remained silent as the blood was drawn through the tubes and filters. As the blood moved along, part of it was drawn away by the filters and went into storage vessels along the sides, while the rest of it continued onward. About halfway through the process—it began to glow a light green. By the time it reached the drip, only a fraction of the blood was still moving along—and it was glowing brightly enough to cause Professor Snape to cast an eerie, flickering shadow across the almost empty ward. The bottle slowly filled, and Professor Snape nodded in satisfaction before turning to Neville and commenting, "You have powerful magic within you, Neville: it should help the potion work in a most satisfactory manner."

Neville was mildly startled by Snape's use of his first name, but the comment about his magic distracted him from reacting to it. "That's news to me, sir. My family almost had written me off as a Squib until I was eight and fell off a roof. Between that and school the last five years—"

"Near-Squibs don't pass all of their OWLs, Mr. Longbottom—even with the substantial assistance that Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger must have given you in the last year. You were a late bloomer, as they used to say—but it was always highly likely that you would turn out to have substantial power, given your background." Snape spoke absently, watching the glowing green liquid drip into the bottle as he continued, "Your grandmother meant well by giving you your father's wand, but it hindered your learning process—as Mr. Ollivander undoubtedly told you at length, a wizard or witch can only perform at their best with a wand specifically fitted to them. Of course, that doesn't explain why you were so atrocious in _my _class."

"To be honest, sir—it might have had a lot to do with the fact that I was completely terrified of you." The Blood Replenishing Potion had relaxed Neville and made him a little sleepy—he never would have said anything remotely like that to Snape if he was fully awake and alert. He was still aware enough to flinch a bit and look at Snape apologetically: "Uh, sorry sir."

Snape looked amused. "That's not an insult, Mr. Longbottom, and we're not in school. While I have had ample cause to be displeased with your academic performance until recently, I have had no grounds to fault your courtesy to me personally, though you have had a few scuffles with my Slytherins, if memory serves me. Nothing overly shameful, I would say." Neville relaxed a little, and was startled when Snape continued, "I always found it amusing how terrified some of you students are of me—simple dislike or even loathing would be far easier to understand. While you are in my class, you are constantly surrounded by potion ingredients that could reduce you to ashes or goo in an instant if mixed improperly, or inflict any number of lesser but still very permanent effects—and it's ME you chose to be afraid of?"

Neville blinked, then looked over at the smirking Potions professor with a thoroughly embarrassed expression on his face as he replied, "I never thought of it that way before, sir." Snape shrugged, and Neville decided that a new subject would be a good idea. He looked at the slowly filling bottle of glowing green liquid and asked, "Sir—if I had died at the Ministry, would you still have been able to save my parents? I hate to think that—" He lapsed into silence, feeling a bit guilty for the first time for having joined Harry and his other friends in the dangerous journey.

Snape scowled slightly, then sighed as he replied, "Mr. Longbottom, your actions were reckless, but they were also the result of the bonds of friendship, which I must acknowledge as being a powerful force--though I may deplore the actions they drive us to. Furthermore, I would suggest to you that the foreseeable consequences of your actions are quite enough to prick your conscience without burdening yourself with the unforeseeable ones." Neville swallowed hard and nodded, and Snape continued, "As for the answer to your question, there is no way to truly know. Your parents' other relatives are not as closely related, and the effect from their blood would be less."

Neville frowned. "I had the impression from listening to you speak that the potion would work somewhat even without the blood—and you're obviously distilling pure magic out of my blood. Would the potion use my parents' own magic to operate if it was administered without the added distilled magic?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Very nicely reasoned, Mr. Longbottom. If you had produced insights like that in my class, you might be continuing with me this fall." Neville smiled to acknowledge the compliment, and Snape continued, "Most beneficial potions draw on the magic of the person consuming it to some degree—this is why many potions do not work on muggles, or have radically different effects as opposed to those on magical beings. My new potion takes this principle to an extreme—since incurable Cruciatus damage is almost totally disabling to a wizard or witch, I designed it to draw as much magic as necessary from the body of the victim to repair the damage. If there is no other source of magic, the amount of magic drained from the patient could easily turn a weak wizard into a squib, or greatly weaken even a powerful wizard for months or years. By incorporating compatible distilled magic into the potion, the draining effect can be lessened or even eliminated altogether. The main limitation to the process is that distilled magic only retains its potency for a few days, and must be all from one wizard or witch." The last of the blood passed through the tubes and filled the bottle—which Snape corked and set aside. He turned back to Neville and looked at him with a scowl as he ordered, "Rest now. You will need to be strong enough to donate more in one hour."

Neville nodded and sank back into his pillow, his thoughts on his parents as he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Hermione sipped her Butterbeer and looked over at Harry, who was watching her with a smile on his face. She smiled back at him and commented, "You certainly weren't exaggerating when you said we'd be doing things we never did before, Harry—I'm not sure how you're going to top the last few days."

Harry grinned—he was rather proud of what they had managed to accomplish the last few days, even with Tonks and Shacklebolt quietly tailing them while they went along. He had asked Hermione for a list of things that she wanted to see or do that she had never done before, and he had looked it over, added a few things of his own, and every afternoon they had gone off to do a couple of things on the list. On the afternoon of August 1st, they had traveled to Diagon Alley, and Hermione had gone into Flourish & Blott's with a simple instruction from Harry: pick out any ten books that are not directly connected to schoolwork, that you would like to read for simple pleasure. Hermione had searched the stacks for two hours, and come back with a stack of huge tomes and a hesitant look on her face. Harry had smiled, looked at the titles and nodded in approval, and paid the two hundred and forty Galleon price tag for the lot without blinking. Hermione had protested mildly as the wide-eyed clerk took the pile of books off to be owled back to Hogwarts, and Harry had replied, "Sirius would have wanted you to have those—and I like the idea of watching you read for no other reason than to have fun." Hermione had reluctantly accepted the gift, looking a bit dazed.

Later that day, they had visited Buckingham Palace with a group of tourists, and were looking at the furnishings with interest when Tonks—who looked like a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a limp—slipped up to them and whispered hesitantly: "Uh—someone would like to have tea with the two of you." Harry and Hermione had looked at each other, then followed Tonks and a couple of muggle security people into a small room—and their eyes widened as they recognized the dignified-looking old woman sitting at the table waiting for them. Tonks and the security people left, and the woman gestured for them to sit. They did, and for several minutes they all drank tea in silence. Harry felt the woman's eyes on him, and while it was not as powerful an experience as having Dumbledore similarly examine him, he could sense the decades of experience and wisdom behind the eyes of their host.

After about ten minutes, the woman gestured for Harry and Hermione to stand. They complied, and she watched them for a few moments more before commenting quietly, "I am kept informed about the most important events in your world, and I am given to understand that you have been facing dangers far beyond that which would seem sensible or just, given your years." Harry nodded—he found himself unable to respond coherently in words--and the Queen frowned, a touch of sadness entering her eyes as she continued, "Obviously, in this day and age the power of the Crown is far more circumscribed than it once was, even in the mundane world. However, I have a few contacts in your world, including Ms. Amelia Bones, and I have a roost set aside for owl post. If ever your need is dire and you believe that I can be of assistance to you, please send word. I will do what I can." She pressed a small button on the arm of her chair, and Tonks and the security people returned. The Queen smiled at the stunned young people in front of her and concluded, "Thank you for coming to visit my home—and for your service to the United Kingdom."

Harry was too startled to speak, but Hermione covered for both of them with a perfect curtsey and reply, "Thank you for granting us an audience, Your Highness." The Queen nodded, and the visitors left.

Outside the castle, Hermione turned to Harry and whispered fiercely, "You didn't know that was going to happen, did you?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "No—I most certainly did not." A muffled snicker came from the teenaged blonde walking ten feet behind them, and Harry took a moment to glare at Tonks before turning back to Hermione and suggesting that they call it a day.

The next afternoon had been spent closer to Hogwarts—they went through some of the less reputable shops in Knockturn Alley, with Tonks at their side and looking visibly uncomfortable, though Shacklebolt and three other Aurors were but a shout away outside the shops they entered. They only bought a few items that were more interesting than Dark, and Harry derived considerable enjoyment from listening to Hermione explain the magical operation of some of the more exotic items they looked at.

The third afternoon involved a floo trip to a location that Professor Dumbledore had provided for them upon request. A short walk followed, and after a few minutes Harry, Hermione, Tonks and Shacklebolt found themselves looking at Stonehenge. There were a few other tourists around—and Harry and Hermione quickly noticed that they were not the only people from the magical world who had come to see the ancient monument on that day. Harry slipped behind the others, not wanting to draw attention to himself on this particular occasion, and they all quietly walked around the perimeter. Harry felt a sense of awe from looking at something that had already been ancient beyond all imagining when Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin had joined forces to found Hogwarts. He looked at Hermione, and saw that her eyes were sparkling with fascination. He watched her, and for a few moments he found himself forgetting the ancient wonder in front of him and thinking about a wonder who he thought he had known for years—only to realize that he was just beginning to understand her. Hermione noticed his gaze and frowned, wondering what he was thinking about. He smiled back at her, and they both turned to look back at the weathered monoliths.

It was now the fourth afternoon—August 4th—and they were sitting in The Three Broomsticks, eating a light lunch and drinking Butterbeers. Hermione looked at Harry with an uncharacteristically playful expression and coaxed, "Come on, Harry—tell me what we're going to do today."

Harry smiled at Hermione and replied with a wicked grin, "You're just going to have to wait to find out, Miss Granger. I don't believe in opening presents early."

"Well now—isn't this cozy."

Hermione's mouth twisted into an ugly snarl at the sound of the unpleasantly familiar voice, and she turned to face the new arrival as she asked, "So, Harry—when are we leaving for our tour of the insecticide factory?"

"I see that your personality is as nasty as ever, Ms. Granger." Rita Skeeter pulled up a chair and smiled at the two Hogwarts students. "On the other hand, here you are with Harry—are you two ready to admit I wasn't as wrong about that article I wrote about you in your fourth year at Hogwarts as you've always claimed?"

Madam Rosmerta appeared suddenly, looking angry. "Is she bothering you, Harry? I've got half-a-dozen volunteers to bounce the old hag out on her bum if you give the word."

Harry looked at Hermione, and only she saw the wicked twinkle in his eyes before he turned back to Rosmerta and replied, "No, everything is fine—for now. Rita's behaving herself." Rosmerta looked dubious as she left, and Hermione looked furious, but Harry ignored both reactions as he turned to Rita and said quietly, "I'd be glad to give you a statement on the subject, Rita." The reporter's eyes widened in surprise, and she scrambled for a quill as Harry began, "I am relaxing in preparation for the big charity Quidditch match, to be held at Hogwarts on August 8th, and for which tickets are still available. The proceeds will be dedicated to the fight against Voldemort—" Harry waited for Rita to stop cringing and to write "You-Know-Who" on the parchment before he continued: "—and I encourage everyone to attend. Hermione was kind enough to accompany me as I took the time to see some sights that my, ah, busy schedule has not permitted me to take in before. We are not dating—Hermione is far too sensible a witch, and knows me far too well, to get tangled up with me in the romantic sense. However, if she ever happens to lose her common sense and decides that I'm boyfriend material, I would consider myself very fortunate to have won the affections of such a beautiful, charming, and intelligent witch." Harry sighed inwardly as he finished the last sentence: he had known that Rita would probably turn up, and he had gone to Remus to help him compose a perfect statement to deal with her probable reaction to finding Harry and Hermione in public together. _I hope I didn't go overboard there—Hermione is likely to be annoyed with me._

Rita wasn't bothering with skepticism—she scribbled madly, then looked up and smiled at him: "Well said, Harry—even if you're downplaying her nasty temper." Harry winced and waited for Hermione to react angrily, but Hermione seemed to be a bit distracted for some reason. He turned back to Rita, who said, "Since you're giving me an exclusive, I'll even leave in that commercial for the Quidditch match beforehand—the Daily Prophet is promoting that constantly anyway." Harry nodded, and Rita leaned in and asked, "Were you serious about inviting Slytherins to join your fight against You-Know-Who, Harry? That news out of your birthday party has provoked a lot of reaction in the public."

Harry had been expecting this—he knew that a speech made in front of more than a hundred guests would inevitably leak to the media, and he hadn't said anything that he hadn't wanted to be made public. He looked at Hermione again, and she thought his eyes looked positively evil in the moment before he turned back to Rita, looking a little sad. "Rita—I've got another exclusive for you: it's something I've never made public, and might help the public understand why I am willing to reach out to Slytherins now after years of. . .shall we say less than friendly relations." Rita nodded, and Harry could practically hear her heart beating faster at the thought of two exclusive quotes from Harry in one day. Harry smiled again and began, "As you know, when I received my letter from Hogwarts on my eleventh birthday, I knew nothing of the Wizarding World, and just as little about Hogwarts. During the time between my receiving the letter and my encounter with the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, I had the misfortune of meeting a young wizard who was to be in my entering class at Hogwarts. He succeeded in insulting me and those who had been kind enough to befriend me, and he—together with two thuggish students who have accompanied him like inept bodyguards ever since—threatened me when I declined to accept his offer of friendship after those offenses. He went before me in the Sorting, and was instantly Sorted into Slytherin, as were his thuggish friends. The Hat had a harder time with me—it informed me that I would do well in Slytherin, and why not? I freely admit to being ambitious, resourceful, determined, and willing to go outside the rules when I think there's a good reason for it—all qualities prized by Salazar Slytherin along with his unfortunate beliefs about pure-bloodedness that Voldemort and his flunkies are obsessed with. . .which is quite funny, when one finds out that he's really a half-blood." Rita paused at the last sentence, and stared at Harry, who nodded in confirmation before continuing and lying through his teeth: "But I didn't know that the murderer of my parents had been a Slytherin, nor that any of his followers had been. All I knew was that one particular loathsome individual was a Slytherin, and that I wanted no part of any House that would so eagerly admit him. I begged the Hat not to put me in Slytherin, and it put me in Gryffindor without further prompting. Given all of the adventures I have had as a member of the honorable House of Gryffindor, I sometimes find it amazing that I probably would have been a Slytherin were it not for the misconduct of Draco Malfoy. Knowing that I almost ended up there leads me to believe that there must be some students who ended up there without knowing about the company they'd be sharing, and that those students would be glad to join in the fight against darkness if we are willing to reach out to them and accept them for what they are, not the House colors they wear."

Rita finished writing and stared at Harry. "This is great material, Harry—the _Prophet_'s readers will love it!" Harry nodded, and Rita blinked and looked at him suspiciously before asking, "What's the catch?"

"No catch, Rita—call it a test." Harry locked eyes with Rita, and he saw her shiver a little at the intensity of his gaze as he added, "If you print what I said without any of the distortions you were so fond of in the past, I'll take it as a sign that you can be trusted, and will give you more of the same. Since you had a record of being less than kind to me in the past until the article in the Quibbler last year, that gives you credibility that makes you useful to me. If you violate my trust, though, I will denounce you publicly and find another reporter to benefit from my generosity. Since I am rather more popular than once was the case, that will not be good for your career. Do we understand each other?"

Rita nodded slowly and stood up, commenting, "The Hat was right, Harry—you would have made a bloody good Slytherin." Harry smiled coldly, and Rita added, "We have a bargain—this material will be in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow, barring an outbreak of war or the like." She turned to leave, then turned back to Harry—visibly curious: "Is there nothing else you want to tell me about yourself and Ms. Granger, Harry?"

Harry was mildly annoyed, and did not note that Rita was carefully watching Hermione's face rather than his as he replied, "Off the record, Rita—if Hermione and I ever get together, I guarantee you an exclusive accompanied with a photo suitable for the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. Don't hold your breath waiting to collect on that."

Rita nodded, and left, smiling to herself. _Harry, if that expression on Ms. Granger's face means what it usually does, I'll be collecting on that promise very soon indeed. You're a clever little bastard, but you are still very young and very naïve—I hope that doesn't stop you from beating You-Know-Who when the time comes._

Harry turned back to Hermione, who had recovered sufficiently to observe, "You do realize that by tomorrow morning, every Slytherin at Hogwarts will believe—" Harry noted the wording and that Hermione had noticed the few less-than-accurate parts of his account to Rita, "--that it's all Draco's fault that they didn't have you in their House for the past five years—and that Voldemort and the Death Eaters will also know that?"

Harry smiled, and the look in his eyes as he did made Hermione shiver as he replied, "Oh yes—I am fully aware of that, Hermione. A down payment on a debt he and his miserable family have been running up for many years now."

Hermione began to open her mouth to register concern about Harry's ruthlessness, but she closed it as she realized that—given the opportunity—she would have done something even worse to Draco and his parents. She decided to change the subject and commented, "You were rather. . .dramatic when you were talking about your impressions of me, Harry—do you really think that was the best way to go?'

"Telling the truth about the way I see you, Hermione? Yes, I'm pretty comfortable with that." Harry was looking away from Hermione again, and did not see her expression change as he continued, "Might as well use all this hero worship nonsense to good effect. A lot of people are going to find out that I think—for very good reason—that you'd make a great girlfriend, and that you're not seeing me. Maybe your Prince Charming will read it and come to sweep you off your feet—and then I'll be the only one in our little group who can't find someone right for them. You deserve to find someone who appreciates you and is right for you, Hermione."

Hermione was silent, and Harry turned back to her, still talking: "We need to finish eating and go, Hermione—the afternoon is only so long." He looked at her and frowned: "Why are you looking so depressed?"

"I'm not," replied Hermione, briskly reaching for her fork and resuming her lunch. "Just a bit tired, I suppose."

Harry frowned, and went back to eating. _I really don't understand girls sometimes—I need to talk to Remus for some tips._

_

* * *

_

It was mid-evening of August 5th, and several of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were meeting in Professor Dumbledore's office to share information about recent events. Dumbledore sat quietly in his chair, with Fawkes watching the others in the office from the back of the chair. McGonagall yawned and stretched in a manner that was far more reminiscent of her Animagus form than of a middle-aged professor. Remus Lupin was polishing his wand and looking at Tonks—who had purple hair and was wearing red robes. Snape, for once, was not scowling, and looked content to wait for the meeting to begin. Kingsley Shacklebolt, on the other hand, was checking his pocket watch every so often—he had early duties in the morning before he was scheduled to join Tonks in watching Harry and Hermione during the afternoon. Dumbledore saw Shacklebolt's fidgeting and smiled at old memories before announcing, "As the hour is late and we all have other matters to attend to, I suggest we keep our reports to the essentials. I will begin—preparations for the Quidditch match are going smoothly, and ticket sales are approaching one hundred thousand. Apparation areas have been prepared around Hogsmeade, which will accommodate those unable to reach Portkey sites or take the Hogwarts Express. Kingsley and Amelia Bones have been most helpful in insuring that there will be adequate protection from the Aurors to discourage any efforts by the Death Eaters to disrupt the game or to attack the spectators." He turned to Professor McGonagall and invited, "Minerva?"

"The spellwork is going right on schedule, and we will be able to incorporate the suggestions of Mr. Thomas and Mr. Finnegan without affecting our deadlines. Furthermore, we've modified the charms on the field so that our designated Omnioculars can produce multiple copies, but no one else's can—those match replays should raise quite a few Galleons if it is as good as I suspect it will be." McGonagall looked rather pleased, and she added, "I can't wait to see how Harry does in front of a crowd that large."

"Neither can I, Minerva." Dumbledore nodded to McGonagall, and turned to Snape: "Severus, I believe you have some very good news for us."

"Yes, I do," replied Snape. The others leaned in to listen, and Snape continued, "I have distilled as much magic out of young Mr. Longbottom's blood as will stay potent at one time, and will be ready to add it to the anti-Cruciatus potion tomorrow morning. Neville's magic is rather more potent than we might have expected from most of his time here—" McGonagall winced, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Snape continued, "—and I believe that by tomorrow evening, Frank and Alice Longbottom will have regained their sanity and will be ready to recuperate under the protection of the Order."

Lupin looked at Snape, stood up, and began to applaud. After a moment, the others in the room stood up and joined him. Snape blinked in surprise, and waited for the applause to end before he coughed self-consciously and commented, "You may feel differently as time goes on. The Dark Lord also knows of the existence of my potion, and he intends to use it to facilitate extended interrogations using Cruciatus, draining the magic of the victims for long periods or even permanently in the process. We may pay a dear price for regaining the Longbottoms."

"Nonetheless, your accomplishment deserves recognition, Severus, and having Frank and Alice back will improve morale somewhat in the light of recent tragedies. Well done." Snape nodded, and Dumbledore changed the subject: "Severus, what can you tell us about the current activities of Voldemort and the Death Eaters?"

"The Death Eaters are lying low for the moment at a location I cannot reveal precisely, as it is protected by the Fidelius Charm. It is somewhat to the west of London, however. The Dark Lord has given orders for all who serve him to avoid any activities that might attract attention, while looking for opportunities to recruit new members. As for the Dark Lord himself. . .he went into seclusion tonight, just before I came here to join you. He left orders not to be disturbed, but I know for a fact that he had already seen this." He dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on Dumbledore's desk, and opened it to the front page, where the headline read "Harry Potter Speaks About Love, Rivalries, and Quidditch." Snape looked up to see that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling more furiously than ever, and McGonagall was turning red in a futile effort to avoid laughing. Lupin was smiling proudly, and Tonks and Shacklebolt were looking very much like people who knew they were about to be yelled at, and knew there was no escape. "I'm glad you all find this so amusing, but Draco Malfoy may need a full-time guard of Aurors to keep from being murdered by his housemates or by Death Eaters after this little indiscretion by Potter."

"Yeah, because we have Aurors to spare to protect traitorous little gits from poetic justice," muttered Tonks. Shacklebolt gave her a mildly reproving look, but his heart didn't seem to be in it.

"I'm sure that you will be able to convince your students that harming Mr. Malfoy is not appropriate, no matter what the effects of his youthful indiscretions were on the history of your House, Severus. As for the Death Eaters, I will meet with Mr. Malfoy at some point and determine whether he might wish to consider alternative arrangements for his future under the circumstances." Snape's eyes widened at the last comment, and he nodded curtly. Dumbledore frowned, then added, "Severus—is there any other reason Rita Skeeter's article about Harry is disturbing you?"

Snape scowled, then replied, "Aside from the threat it posed to one of my student's lives, Potter's story about how he came to be in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin made for interesting reading, and suggests that we might wish to make sure the muggleborn students coming into Hogwarts are more thoroughly educated about the backgrounds of the Founders and the Houses, so that they do not choose their House out of ignorance or anger. Potter—his comments aside—obviously belonged in Gryffindor, but his suggestion that others might have ended up in the wrong house is worth considering. However, the Dark Lord was rather furious with Potter for his indiscreet revelation that he is a half-blood. I believe he is plotting a terrible revenge."

"And how exactly is this different from what he's been trying to do to Harry for five years now?" Tonks commented acidly, shaking her head in anger. "Good for Harry for hitting that bastard where it hurts—maybe it will slow down his recruiting efforts among the pureblooded bigots out there."

Snape scowled at Tonks and replied coldly, "Potter may be safe personally—and even his friends may be protected, but the Dark Lord and his followers are still merciless killers, and they no longer need to hide their existence—only their current whereabouts. I have little regard for Potter in many ways, but his compassion for others is by now a matter of public record. How will he react if, say, Bellatrix Lestrange and several other Death Eaters slaughter a dozen children in Diagon Alley and announce, 'A gift from the Dark Lord to Harry Potter,' before apparating away? That is an act well within their powers, and one we may be helpless to prevent. It will be a weight on his spirit that will be hard to bear, and it may only be the least of what is to come."

"Your concerns are well-expressed, Severus—and we will need to find a way to help Harry deal with them, before that terrible moment comes. However, it is important that we be seen as fighting back, and Harry's revelations will be interpreted by the public as a strike back against Voldemort." Snape nodded again, and Dumbledore turned to Tonks: "Nymphadora—Harry certainly seemed to be in control of the information flow in his encounter with Rita Skeeter: how are he and Hermione doing in their daily adventures?"

Tonks pointedly ignored Dumbledore's usage of her first name and described the first three days of Harry and Hermione's afternoon trips together. The Order members chuckled a few times at the stories, particularly at the students' awed reaction to meeting the Queen. Tonks recounted the conversation between Harry and Rita at The Three Broomsticks, and Snape was moved to raise an eyebrow and mutter, "He might have made a worthy Slytherin at that—his unfortunate parentage aside."

Lupin glared at Snape, and commented, "Harry came to me to help him come up with that statement about his relationship with Hermione, but as far as I know he came up with the story about his early experiences in the wizarding world on his own—including a few creative interpretations of the facts, if I recall Harry's description of those days to me correctly. He is definitely becoming more sophisticated, and a bit more ruthless."

McGonagall frowned. "Harry certainly went out of his way to sing Hermione's praises—I know he was very angry about the things that Skeeter woman said about Hermione during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. How did she react to it all?"

Tonks frowned. She had her own suspicions about Hermione's reaction, but no proof, and she simply reported what she had observed, including Hermione's expressions and that she had been silent after Harry had told Rita how he felt about Hermione. Lupin raised an eyebrow, but the others seemed to think that both Harry and Hermione had handled an unpleasant situation well. Dumbledore asked Tonks to continue her account, and she described Harry's and Hermione's activities over the next two afternoons before they moved on to other matters.

The meeting broke up twenty minutes later, and Dumbledore's visitors headed down the stairs and on their separate ways. Lupin pulled Tonks aside and asked her quietly, "Was there something you didn't mention about Harry and Hermione at The Three Broomsticks?"

Tonks frowned, then replied, "When Harry asked Hermione if she was depressed, he hadn't looked at her until her expression had changed somewhat from when she first reacted to what he was saying. She looked more frustrated to me than depressed at first." Lupin smiled involuntarily, and Tonks scowled at him. "What's the joke?"

"I think we're about to find out what happens when an immovable object meets an immovable object," Lupin commented with a deadpan expression.

"Wait—isn't that when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?" Tonks was confused.

"No—both of them have a long way to go before they're irresistible in any context, but they're both more stubborn than any two people I've met, with the possible exception of their friend Ron—and that's with my best friends in school being the Marauders and Lily Evans." Lupin sighed and shook his head, adding, "I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be dramatic for another reason besides the Quidditch match."

Tonks frowned, then brightened as she looked at the former Hogwarts professor appraisingly and suggested, "Come on—you can explain it to me over Fire Whiskeys at The Three Broomsticks." She changed form abruptly: she was now tall, blonde, and shapely, and her robes had turned bright blue. "Come on, Remus—the night isn't getting any younger."

_Neither am I_, thought Lupin, but he followed Tonks with a mildly bewildered smile on his face.

* * *

"All right, Neville—sit on the stool in front of your parents' beds, and be sure to smile at them." The healer and Neville were the only people in the room with Neville's still-disabled parents, and the healer held two large potion vials—both of which were glowing a pale green. "It's vital that they be reassured when they regain their sense of reality."

Neville nodded, and the healer administered the potions: first to Frank Longbottom, then to Alice Longbottom. Both patients gasped, and Neville watched in fascination as the potion visibly began to take effect. Snape had explained that he had incorporated cosmetic elements into the potion, as the gaunt, wasted state of a long-term patient was bound to be demoralizing to a recovering Cruciatus sufferer. As Neville watched, his parents' hair turned dark and their faces filled out, as if they had gained weight. Their eyes lost their haunted look and their expressions turned placid. Neville held his breath and prayed.

After a few minutes, Frank Longbottom gasped, and he blinked once. His gaze focused on Neville, and Neville was sure that he saw recognition in his father's dark eyes before they fluttered close and he slumped to the mattress, already in a deep sleep. Neville bit his lip: both the healer and Snape had warned him this would happen, but it was still disturbing to see his father lying so still.

Alice Longbottom gasped, and her eyes immediately went to Neville. Neville smiled at her, and Alice Longbottom's eyes brimmed with tears as she whispered, "Neville?"

Neville moved forward and grasped her hand, squeezing hard and whispering back, "Yes, mum. It's Neville. I'm all right, and you will be too."

Alice smiled, and slumped: Neville caught her and gently lowered her to the bed, kissing her brow before releasing her and standing up. The healer was watching him, visibly moved by the scene. "That was very well done, Neville: they will rest well and continue healing now. You have visitors waiting for you outside: we will notify you immediately when your parents are strong enough to see you."

Neville nodded and turned for the door, trying to keep his composure until he has left his parents behind. He blinked, and his vision blurred with tears. He went through the doors, and heard a voice ask, "How are your parents, Neville?"

Neville didn't recognize the voice in the state he was in: all he was aware of was the dam of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him, and that the blurred figures ahead of him would be able to help him deal with them. He managed to choke out, "They're going to be all right," before burying his face in the center of one of the robed figures in front of him and breaking down into long, racking sobs. Neville felt the person stiffen, as if in shock, but after a moment he felt a hand patting him on the back in a somewhat irregular pattern, as if the person was unaccustomed to comforting someone in this way. After he had cried for a while and began to regain his senses, he put two and two together and felt a chill. _Oh, no—I didn't! _He gingerly pulled away from the person—who was wearing midnight black robes—and found himself looking into the fathomless black eyes of Professor Snape, who looked rather uncomfortable. He swallowed hard and prepared to come up with the most epic apology ever: "Professor Snape—I am so sor—"

"Mr. Longbottom, if I may speak, please." Neville shut up immediately, and Snape studied him carefully before continuing, "As you know, this matter is not to be discussed with anyone except the persons in this room, and your grandmother. It is a secret, and as such I see no need to dwell in depth on any part of it—most specifically this last part of it. In fact, I will expect you never to bring up this incident to me again. Am I understood?"

"Yes. Yes sir. Thank you sir." Neville felt a surge of relief almost as powerful as the one he had experienced at seeing his parents recover, and was startled when the other person in the room placed a small metal instrument in his hand. He turned, then asked, "What is this, Professor Dumbledore?"

"A kazoo, Neville. It's a Muggle musical instrument, but more to the point, it's a Portkey back to the Hogwarts infirmary—your grandmother is waiting for you there, and Madam Pomfrey will wish to examine you to make sure you are fully recovered." Dumbledore smiled, and instructed, "Blow on the mouthpiece, and you will be on your way."

Neville complied, and vanished. Dumbledore smiled, then turned to face Snape. He was in the process of beginning another sentence, but the Potions Master was ready and snarled:

"Not a word, old man."

Dumbledore closed his mouth, but his eyes twinkled merrily as he produced another Portkey and took Snape's hand. They both vanished, leaving the room empty.

* * *

"Neville! It's wonderful to have you back—how are you?"

Hermione—probably Neville's closest friend among the other five students staying at Hogwarts—was the first to greet him as he walked into the Great Hall five minutes before the evening feast was to be served. She hugged him firmly, then released him to allow the others—including Ginny, who had arrived only half an hour before—to greet Neville. He smiled at the attention he was receiving, then replied, "I'm fine. Five days of Blood Replenishing potions is not a fun experience, but the healers assure me that I am completely cured, and need not worry about a relapse. Anyway, enough about me—what happened while I was gone?" There was a moment of silence, and Neville noticed that Ron and Luna were holding hands, and that Luna was smiling fondly at Ron. "Oh."

"Right, they can tell you about that later." Hermione sounded mildly annoyed, but there was still a smile on her face as she nodded at the Head Table. "For now, let's sit down—I'm hungry."

The others complied, and everyone ate in silence for a while until Professor Dumbledore announced, "For those who have not heard the news, Professor McGonagall's team has successfully conjured the stands for the match, and has also succeeded in incorporating the new ideas proposed by Mr. Thomas and Mr. Finnegan. Both teams will be arriving tomorrow to inspect the field and to get a feel for it, and Mr. Thomas will be here to demonstrate how the Omniocular display board works and to familiarize the players with it."

Harry stood and raised his glass: "To Professor McGonagall and her team: may the match on the 8th be worthy of their fine efforts!" Everyone raised their glasses and drank the toast, and Harry raised his glass again: "And to Dean and Seamus—who had the sense to apply a Muggle idea to improve the best sport in the world!"

Everyone drank the second toast, and Ron turned to Ginny—who was chatting with Luna—and commented, "Your boyfriend had a very good idea—you must be pretty proud of him."

"I am proud of Dean," replied Ginny, helping herself to more mashed potatoes, "but he isn't my boyfriend any more."

Harry blinked, and beat Ron to the obvious next question: "Uh—since when?"

Ginny shrugged. "We spent a lot of time together over the last few days, and had a chance to talk. He's nice, and he's interesting—but we're just not suited for each other. When it came right down to it, he's just a little bit too terrified of a certain redhead's temper for me to be happy with him."

Hermione glared at Ron, who looked ready to defend himself against the implied accusation before Ginny rescued him: "Not Ron's temper, Hermione: mine."

Ginny's deadpan comment provoked general laughter, though the laughs coming from the boys were a bit nervous.

After everyone had finished eating, Harry left quickly, calling out to Hermione that he'd meet her at the Room of Requirement in half an hour. Hermione nodded and stopped to talk to Professor McGonagall. Ron and Luna slipped away without a word, while the other professors walked out together. Neville nodded to the others, then walked out and headed for Gryffindor Tower. He was quite tired, and he was looking forward to seeing the transformed Quidditch pitch and waiting for word about his parents. He was in a quiet hallway near the Fat Lady's portrait when he heard a whisper in his ear: "Nile Valley Soul Fever, huh? How in the world did you catch that?"

Neville felt a chill as he turned to face Ginny, who had an inquisitive and completely innocent expression on her face. Every nerve in his body screamed "Danger!" He forced himself to calm down. _she's smart, but she can't read your mind. Madam Pomfrey has given you a cover story—stick to it._

Neville feigned an indifferent expression before shrugging and replying, "I don't have any idea, Ginny—I'd never heard of it until Madam Pomfrey told me about it. Who knows where I could have picked up a weird disease like that? I'm just glad I'm cured of it in time to see the big Quidditch match." He was quite proud of his delivery of the blatant lie, and was deeply unnerved to see Ginny raise an eyebrow and snicker. He scowled at her and snapped, "What's the joke?"

Ginny smiled slowly, and her reply sent a chill down Neville's spine: "That's just it--it isn't a disease. It's a curse, placed by Egyptian wizards on the tombs of their pharaohs to deal with would-be robbers. It causes slow, wasting death unless it is broken, which isn't easy. It killed a lot of the muggles who uncovered the tomb of Tutankhamen back in the 1920s. You can't get it any other way, and it isn't contagious." Neville felt sweat begin to trickle down his brow as Ginny shook her head sadly and added, "Madam Pomfrey was very clever to pick a condition that Hermione would have no way of knowing about--but she didn't count on one of the Weasleys actually paying attention to the stories Bill told." Neville paled, and Ginny added, "I also noticed you leaving with Snape the night of the party, and I read the article in The _Daily Prophet_ that said your parents were put into isolation. I may not be as clever as Hermione, but I can put that puzzle together without much trouble, Neville."

Neville swallowed hard, and took Ginny's hand, leading her to a nearby closet. He led her inside, then pulled his wand and cast locking and silence charms on the door. Ginny raised an eyebrow, and Neville turned to her and told her the whole story, beginning with Snape pulling him aside and ending with his parents' cure: he only omitted the embarrassing incident with Snape after he left his parents. Ginny listened in silence, and when he was finished she put her arms around him and hugged him softly, whispering, "I'm so happy for you, Neville."

Neville felt a burst of warmth towards his friend, but the gnawing fear was still there, and he whispered desperately: "Ginny—you can't tell anyone I told you this. Snape made me promise, and he was right to do so. If Vol-Voldemort knew they were all right—"

"I understand, Neville. I won't tell anyone, though you have a lot of friends who would love to share your happiness—it might even have made them like Snape a bit more for a while." Neville laughed at the joke, and Ginny reached out and squeezed his hand as she added with a wicked grin "I will want to meet them soon, though."

Neville stared at Ginny—her expression seemed a bit odd, given what they were talking about, and he frowned in confusion as he asked, "Why do you want to meet them, Ginny?"

Ginny looked into his eyes and smiled softly, then leaned up and put her arms around Neville's neck as she kissed him firmly on the lips. Neville was caught completely by surprise, but he found his hands moving around her waist as he returned the kiss. They stayed that way for a few seconds before Ginny pulled away and waited for Neville to regain the knack of breathing normally before she replied, "I think it will do wonders for your parents' recovery if you can introduce them to your girlfriend."

Neville blinked, and stared at Ginny with a disbelieving expression that would have been appropriate if she had told him that she had just founded the Draco Malfoy Fan Club. He would not later be able to remember what made him ask, "Don't I get any say in this?"

Ginny looked at him with a calculating expression that made Neville think that Harry might not have been the only one who easily could have been sorted into Slytherin, and replied, "Neville, the people we go to school with read the newspapers, and it's become pretty well-known what you did with the rest of us in June. Add that to the fact that you're getting more handsome and charming every year, and the bottom line is that when we start school again in the fall, you're going to be the prime target of every snobby pureblooded witch at Hogwarts--mostly Slytherins--who doesn't want to end up marrying a baby Death-Eater. Would you rather deal with them, or me?"

Neville blinked again, and thought about the situation for fully thirty seconds before he pulled Ginny back to him and returned the kiss she had given him, with interest. He took a moment to enjoy the unfocused look in her beautiful eyes when he released her, then commented, "Well, if you're daft enough to actually want me as a boyfriend, I'm certainly not going to put up a fight." Ginny grinned at him, and Neville felt a last pang of doubt. He looked into Ginny's eyes and asked quietly, "Why me, Ginny?"

Ginny sighed, put her arms around Neville's neck, and whispered, "You've spent most of the time since you first arrived at Hogwarts hiding from the world, Neville. Most people didn't notice, but I did—I knew that you'd show us who you really were sooner or later, if something or someone pushed you hard enough to make you stand and fight. You're brave, and you're loyal, and you're sweet—and everyone is going to notice it sooner than you can imagine, Neville. I'm swooping in before the Christmas rush and keeping you for myself." Neville stared at Ginny, and she smiled wickedly and added, "Besides, I need someone with the courage to stand up to my brothers—and me."

_Merlin help me!_ Neville ignored the tiny voice coming from the more timid side of his soul, and leaned in to kiss Ginny again.

* * *

Cho sat at her desk and stared at the letter with Professor Dumbledore's signature, and at the shiny silver badge which read simply: Head Girl. After the unpleasantness of the last year, the news was more exciting than anything she could imagine. Her parents still didn't know—she would have to figure out the best way to tell them—

"Cho."

Cho turned at the sound of her mother's voice—which sounded a little odd. "Yes, Mother?"

"Come down to the living room. Someone's making a floo call to you." Cho's mother looked a bit stunned, and Cho was concerned enough to frown and stand up immediately, but that wasn't fast enough for the older woman. "Hurry, dear." She turned away, apparently not noticing the Head Girl badge that had been in plain view on Cho's desk.

Cho scowled. _Who could be in such a hurry to reach me that owl post wouldn't do? If Michael is showing off, I'll-- _She terminated the thought, and ran down the stairs-the sooner she could finish talking with whoever it was, the better. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked over to the fireplace—and stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping. After a moment, she managed to regain her composure and say simply, "Hello, Harry."

Harry smiled at Cho and replied, "Hey, Cho." Cho managed to smile back weakly at Harry, and he added, "Hey—Professor Dumbledore told me about you getting Head Girl. Congratulations!"

Cho heard a muffled squeak from the hallway, and heard the sound of her mother running up the stairs_. So much for figuring out how to tell them_.

Harry heard the squeak and saw Cho wince, and immediately looked contrite: "They didn't know? Sorry about that."

"It's all right, Harry—saves me the trouble of doing it, and I suspect Mother will tell the story of you breaking the news for years to come." Cho sighed, and looked over at Harry as she asked, "Nice of you to go to the trouble of a floo call just to congratulate me."

"That's not the only reason I'm calling, Cho." Cho's eyes widened at the serious tone in Harry's voice, and she listened carefully as Harry added, "How would you like to get a better seat for the match?"

"Harry—I've already got a reserved seat in the Hogwarts box. There isn't a better seat to be had in the stands." Cho frowned, puzzled. "You know that."

"That's right," Harry replied, looking pleased with himself. "There's not a better seat to be had—in the stands."

Cho only took an instant more to get what Harry was driving at, and her jaw dropped again: "No way."

Harry nodded. "Both of Puddlemere United's Seekers are away, which is how I ended up involved in this whole thing to begin with. David Robinson gave me a free hand in choosing my backup in case I take a Bludger in the skull or something else nasty happens. I choose you."

Cho had a sudden impulse to run to get her owl and tell everyone she knew that she'd be on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with the reserves of Puddlemere United in front of a hundred and fifty thousand people in less than forty eight hours. She started to turn—then remembered a Snitch being grabbed right in front of her eyes, and the frustrated tears that she had shed afterwards. She scowled at Harry and muttered, "What's wrong—Ginny having her hair done that day?"

"You know that Ginny's not of age to play in a professional Quidditch game—even an exhibition. Besides, even if she was, if I even suggested it Mrs. Weasley would rip my head off and use it as a Quaffle." Harry's wry comment provoked a laugh from Cho, but she scowled again after recovering. Harry sighed and added, "Look, Cho—Ginny's talented, but she doesn't have anywhere near your experience at Seeker. If something happens to me and I can't play, I want someone who can keep her head about her in a tough game. Even if she were available, I'd still want you for the job."

"Really?" Cho asked, looking at Harry and remembering why she had wanted to go out with him in the first place. _He can be so sweet_. Harry nodded, and Cho thought for a moment before she sighed and added with a rueful smile, "All right, Harry—you talked me into it. Thank you." She smiled at Harry again—this time a bit more seductively—and invited, "Why don't you come on through, Harry? We can talk about your strategy in the match, since I'm sure I won't actually get to play myself."

"Thanks, but I have to meet Hermione in the Room of Requirement in a few minutes. You ought to owl Michael—he'll want to hear about you being on the reserve squad." Harry smiled and nodded at Cho, and his head vanished from the fireplace.

Cho stared at the empty flames and sighed again. _Why does being the new Head Girl, being involved in the biggest Quidditch match ever, and having a boyfriend wrapped around my little finger seem like a lot of consolation prizes all of a sudden_? She shook her head in annoyance and went upstairs to tell her parents the news.

* * *

Harry walked into the Room of Requirement—just in time to watch Hermione transfigure a large tub of oatmeal into a Galapagos tortoise. The huge, placid reptile looked quietly at Harry, then began munching on the lettuce that Hermione had left for it. Harry grinned at Hermione and commented, "That's fantastic, Hermione! How long will the change last?"

"Not long," Hermione replied. She nodded to Harry and watched as the tortoise trudged off to a quiet corner. "You know the basic principles of Transfiguration—the more radical the transformation, the shorter the duration of the change. It's a nice tactic for distraction, though." She smiled at Harry and asked, "Have you come up with anything new?"

"New spells? No." Harry replied calmly, causing Hermione to raise her eyebrow suspiciously as she noted his wording. Harry noticed the reaction and turned to face a large wooden target as he raised his wand. Hermione heard a soft hiss, then a bright beam came from Harry's wand, reducing the target to splinters. Hermione's eyes widened at the obvious demonstration of a Reductor Curse, and Harry turned back to her with a smug expression as he noted, "But that trick might catch someone off guard pretty well."

"You cast that spell in Parseltongue? Harry—that's unbelievable! How did you learn to do that so quickly? You only found that book a week ago!" Hermione had seen "Magic For Parseltongues"—written by one of the few non-Dark wizards to ever possess the incredibly rare talent—on the list of tomes donated by D.A. members, but she hadn't even looked at it, knowing that Harry was the only one who could make use of it. "What's the trick to it?"

"There are some spells that can only be cast in Parseltongue, but I didn't bother to try to learn those yet—I can tell they'll be tough to master." Hermione nodded at Harry's comment, and Harry continued, "I figured that being able to cast spells with hisses instead of words would give me an edge in fights with most dark wizards, as no one else except Voldemort can understand Parseltongue, and most curses and hexes are cast with a simple point of the wand along with the incantation. The trick was getting the right state of mind to cast the spell. Parseltongue isn't English, or even a language which translates directly from it—"

"So you can't just think 'Wingardium Leviosa' in English and have it come out in Parseltongue when you speak." Hermione commented bluntly.

"Exactly." Harry smiled—pleased to be talking to someone intelligent enough to realize the difficulty of the problem without actually having to have it explained to her or experience it firsthand. He continued, "You still need to be thinking the correct incantation—our experience with those spells are heavily tied up in the traditional incantation, and it would take a long time to break any of us of the old habits, I would think. But you need to come up with a spoken equivalent in Parseltongue that directly translates—for the Reductor Curse it's an easy one: 'Destroy.' For the Stunning Spell it's 'Sleep.' I've tried four or five others, all simple but effective spells."

Hermione nodded—fascinated by the combination of Harry's rare talent and relatively routine magic. Her mind began drifting towards obvious possibilities for the ability, and she paled briefly before asking quietly, "Harry—you haven't tried using this with any of the Unforgivables, have you?"

"No—I know the Ministry of Magic is being a lot nicer to me these days, but I didn't want to push my luck." Harry didn't take offense at Hermione's question, though he looked rueful as he added, "I'd bet that the Parseltongue versions are pretty simple, though: 'Hypnotize' for Imperius, 'Pain' for Cruciatus, and—"

"'Die!' for Avada Kedavra." Hermione whispered, looking almost ill. Harry nodded reluctantly, and Hermione shook her head in dismay as she asked, "Do you think Voldemort knows how to use Parseltongue this way?"

"There's no way to know. The book is very rare, and—in case you didn't notice—it came directly from Professor Dumbledore's private collection." Hermione nodded at Harry's reply as he continued: "As far as I know, he didn't use it any of the times he cast spells in my presence. He might be hiding the trick from his followers, or he just might be out of practice doing it. Or he's so arrogant that he wants his victim to know what's coming—if he cast Avada Kedavra with just 'Die!' in Parseltongue, it would probably be a lot faster, and no one but me would realize what he had done until it was too late. I need to make sure Professor Dumbledore knows about this—he might duel Voldemort again and get caught off guard."

Hermione nodded again, this time in agreement, and brightened a bit as she changed the subject: "This will be our last night here—you're going to need a lot of rest tomorrow evening before the match. What should we do?"

Harry looked around the room and gave the splintered remains of the practice target he had just blasted a disdainful look as he replied, "I'm tired of shooting at things that don't move or think. I'd like a more interesting challenge." He turned to Hermione and puffed himself up in an obvious attempt to simulate Draco's customary arrogant manner before he called out in the most obnoxious tone he could muster: "Miss Granger—I challenge you to a duel!"

Hermione tried to keep a straight face in spite of Harry's absurd mugging, but she soon lost the battle and began giggling. Harry watched her and maintained the pose until Hermione calmed down and responded: "I accept—if you promise never to do that again: it's very disturbing." Harry sighed sadly, then relaxed, and Hermione shook her head in mild relief before asking, "Very well, then: what are the rules going to be? Keeping in mind, of course, that if I manage to do significant bodily harm to you forty hours before the match is scheduled to begin, I will undoubtedly be killed in a slow and painful manner by the other occupants of this castle."

"An Agility Duel—using Disarming Spells only. First one to disarm the other five times wins. We start thirty-five feet apart—staying at least that close to each other at all times--and each time one of us is hit, we begin again four feet closer than the last time." Harry spoke quickly, making it clear to Hermione that he had thought about this beforehand. She remained silent, and Harry waited a moment before asking, "Does that sound all right to you?"

Hermione nodded, then led Harry outside and closed the door of the Room of Requirement before pacing back and forth, then opening the door again. The piles of books had disappeared—though Harry could see a wooden door on a far wall that seemed to cover a large bookcase—and the floors and walls were now lightly padded. The temperature had also dropped by what seemed to be about ten degrees. Harry nodded in approval, then shed his robes—revealing the T-shirt and the running shorts he was wearing underneath. Hermione also removed her robe and revealed the similar clothing that she was wearing. Both combatants took good long looks at each other, then turned away—concealing the mild and brief blushes that crossed their features. They moved away from each other until they were thirty-five feet apart, and stood at attention. Harry waited a moment, then called out: "One, two—THREE!"

The two opponents each immediately cast the Disarming Spell, then sprang aside to avoid the incoming spell of their rival. The spells hit nothing, and Harry and Hermione began circling around the Room of Requirement, looking for an opening to disarm each other. Both were fully rested and at their best, and it was only after twenty minutes of hard fighting that Harry managed to catch Hermione with a direct hit, sending her wand skittering over to him. Hermione scowled at him as she retrieved her wand, and Harry winked at her as they moved back to the beginning position—this time only thirty-one feet apart.

The second exchange took eighteen minutes to complete, and it was Hermione who managed to disarm Harry. Both of them were sweating freely—in spite of the cool climate in the room—and panting slightly. Harry looked to see if Hermione might want to take a rest—and saw an almost feral competitive fire in her eyes. Harry winced inwardly. _This is going to be brutal before the end_.

Harry was right. The rounds continued to get shorter, as the closer distance made dodging more difficult, but their increasing exhaustion caused their shots to come less frequently and a bit more slowly—which made the rounds longer than they otherwise would have been. The eighth round—which was won by Harry to even the score at four rounds apiece—lasted five minutes, and both fighters were swaying on their feet as Hermione reclaimed her wand. Harry wiped his wand hand on his shorts—his T-shirt was soaking wet and useless for the purpose—and re-gripped his wand before looking up and realizing that Hermione was standing three feet away from him. _Maybe I should have worked out the math better in advance_. He coughed nervously and looked over at Hermione before saying, "Uh, Hermione—maybe we should call this a draw. This round really won't be fun—"

Hermione glared at him, and Harry realized he had triggered something dangerous in his best friend. He considered simply conceding, but at that moment his own competitive fire kicked up a notch, and he muttered, "Fine." He lowered his wand to his side, then began the count again: "One, two—THREE!!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Harry and Hermione shouted the incantation at the same moment, and their wands were pointed directly at each other when the spells were triggered. The results were quite spectacular.

The spells collided and unleashed a red bubble of force that sent both wands flying and staggered both Harry and Hermione. Harry stumbled forward into Hermione and knocked her flat as he fell on top of her. Harry found himself staring directly into Hermione's startled gaze—and found himself drawn into her beautiful brown eyes. Without intending to, he leaned down towards her—only to find that she was moving up to him. Their lips met, and the rest of the world seemed to go away.

Harry put his arms around Hermione and pulled them both to their feet with a fresh burst of energy—not breaking the kiss as he did so. He felt her arms go around him, and intensified the kiss. He felt more alive in that moment than he ever had—and he didn't want it to end.

Hermione gasped and pulled away, and Harry felt a pang of loss as he looked over at Hermione. Her hair had come loose from the restraints she had placed on it for the duel, and it was matted with perspiration and otherwise in complete disarray. Perspiration dripped down her face and soaked her T-shirt: she was shaking, and Harry could see confusion and fear in her eyes. He had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful in his life.

Hermione saw the complex emotions playing across Harry's face and panicked: "Harry—we were under a great deal of stress. I never should have made you fight that last round. I should have just quit and called it a night so you could rest for tomorrow. I promise—nothing like that will ever happen again."

Harry stared at her and began to laugh. Hermione stared at her best friend, and felt a burst of anger as she snapped, "What's so funny?"

"Never happen again? I wish it had happened years ago!" Hermione's jaw dropped as Harry replied bluntly with a grin on his face, then added, "Hermione—you've always been great about telling me when I'm making a fool out of myself: why didn't you do it this time?"

Hermione was silent, and Harry walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders as he continued, "I've had the most wonderful girl in the world next to me for five years—why couldn't you have just smacked me on the head and told me so? I could have spared Cho the bad breakup and let Ginny find someone who loves her as much as she deserves without giving her false hopes about me!" Hermione went rigid, and Harry stepped away, looking concerned: "Hermione, what's wrong? Say something to me."

Hermione blinked, then looked up into Harry's eyes. Harry saw Hermione's gaze go cold, and she said quietly, "Harry—I don't know what you think you're feeling, but it's not what you think it is. You don't feel that way about me."

"You want to know what I'm feeling? I'll tell you—I'm in love with you. I can't imagine anymore what my life would be without you in it, Hermione, and I never want to have to find out. I've been a fool for not realizing it sooner." Harry was unsettled by the lack of warmth Hermione was showing at that moment, but he wasn't about to back down. "I'm sorry if you don't believe that I could feel that way about you, but I know what I'm feeling—I'm the one feeling it."

Hermione shook her head at him and replied, "Harry—you can't rescue me. You've been a good friend to me by taking me to see and do things while I was getting over the shock of Ron getting together with Luna, but this is too much. You're not in love with me—you certainly made that clear enough to Rita Skeeter and the readers of the _Daily Prophet_ the other day--and I'm not going to let you do this just to make me happy."

Harry shook his head and was about to angrily respond to Hermione bringing up the issue of his need to rescue people again when he realized how she had just responded to him and put a couple of recent memories together. He locked eyes with her and said simply, "Fine. Just look in my eyes and tell me you don't love me, Hermione. If you can say that convincingly, I'll go on my way and we'll never talk about this again." Hermione paled, and Harry continued staring into her eyes, adding, "Any time you're ready, Hermione."

"I—I—that's not the issue, Harry!" Hermione turned away from Harry and walked a few steps away, looking frustrated and angry.

"Isn't it? I heard what you said just now—you could have said that you didn't want me, or that you just weren't ready for a relationship: you didn't say either of those things." Harry spoke firmly, looking at Hermione's back and trying to lend the power to his voice that his eyes had just had on her a moment before. "You accused me of wanting to rescue you, and of doing this just to make you happy. Rescue you from what—if being with me wouldn't make you happy, it wouldn't be much of a bloody rescue, would it? Tell me that you know I wouldn't make you happy and I'll stop, Hermione."

Hermione turned back to Harry, and he could see the fury in her eyes as she snapped, "You think you're bloody clever, do you? Less than a year ago, you were begging me for advice on how to deal with Cho—and now you think you're an expert on how a girl's heart works?"

Harry blinked at the onslaught, but he managed to swallow hard and step forward as he whispered, "No, I'm not an expert on girls' hearts—but someone much smarter than me has been trying to teach me to listen to what people say and try to find the hidden meanings there, and you still haven't denied anything I've said, Hermione—except to tell me what I'm feeling, and I'm telling you that you're wrong."

Hermione closed her eyes and shivered, and Harry dared to hope that he had managed to reach her. After a moment, Hermione turned back to Harry and spoke softly as she looked up into his eyes: "Harry—it doesn't matter what I feel. You know I love you, and that I'd do almost anything to make your life better, given all of the misery you've had to suffer over the years. Yes, I've had feelings for you for a while—and with what I was feeling for Ron, it was a bit unsettling. When we were tangled up there just now, I just couldn't resist finding out what it would be like if it was me you were kissing, not Cho or Ginny or whoever you end up with. But that moment is over, Harry. I've never seen any indication before that you felt about me the way. . .the way I do about you. I have to think that it's just a sudden reaction to seeing me unhappy, Harry—but I can get over being unhappy that someone I'm in love with isn't in love with me, just as Ginny managed it. I won't get over knowing you threw away your chance for real happiness to make me happy, Harry—I just won't. I think we should spend time apart until you realize that I'm right, Harry."

Harry stared at Hermione in sheer disbelief, and stood frozen as Hermione walked quickly to the door, still speaking: "It's my turn to rescue you, Harry—from me. When you're past this, we'll continue as before." She opened the door and exited, leaving the door standing open behind her.

Harry felt a moment of sheer frustration, and searched for something to take it out on. The nearly empty training room denied him a target, and he pulled out his wand out and quickly cast a conjuration spell, producing a large granite boulder fifty feet away from him. He leveled his wand at it and snarled in Parseltongue, "Destroy That Completely!"

The beam that jumped out of Harry's wand was pure crimson and sun-bright, and Harry was blinded momentarily. When his vision cleared, he saw that the two-ton boulder had been reduced to dust. He shook his head in disbelief, and he was startled when a familiar female voice observed, "Funny—I don't remember Professor Flitwick teaching us that one. The incantation was a bit lacking in Greek or Latin."

Harry turned to the doorway in shock and saw Ginny walking into the room—with Neville firmly holding her left hand and looking to make sure the powerful spell had not damaged the roof. He raised an eyebrow, but chose to ignore the obvious new development for the moment as he replied, "Actually—it's just a Reductor Curse: I was just in a really bad mood." His eyes widened as he realized the implications of her comment: "You understand Parseltongue?"

"Yes—ever since the Chamber: a parting gift from Tom, I suppose." Ginny's voice was matter-of-fact, but Neville slipped his arm around her waist as she alluded to her possession by Voldemort. She smiled up at him and added, "The way the others treated you when your gift became known didn't exactly make me want to advertise my own new ability."

Harry nodded, and decided that changing the subject would be a good idea. "So—you two are seeing each other now? When did that happen?"

"About two hours ago—I wanted to snap him up before Pansy or Millicent decided the crop of young Death-Eaters wasn't to their liking and decided to go hunting. He's far too good to be wasted on either of those two nasty cows." Ginny spoke matter-of-factly, and Neville blushed deeply as Harry gave him a sympathetic, yet pleased smile. Ginny noted the reaction and raised an eyebrow as she added, "But it seems that my love life isn't the big story here tonight."

Harry scowled. "How much did you hear?"

"We came by about twenty minutes ago—you two were dueling pretty loudly. We were about to come in and watch when we heard you fall, and we had the door half-opened when you two started snogging. I closed the door and got out the Extendable Ears." Ginny spoke quietly, and Harry raised an eyebrow at the last part. Ginny snorted and elaborated, "Not to listen to that—I knew that an argument would be starting as soon as the kissing stopped, and I wanted to hear it. Fights between Ron and Hermione are louder, but when you fight with her it's usually more. . .interesting."

"She's gone nutters on me, Ginny. I just need to find her and talk to her some more—make her believe me when I—" Harry saw Ginny shaking her head slowly, and Harry scowled and asked, "Why not?"

"Because she's smarter than you and just as stubborn, Harry. You're not going to be able to talk her out of it, and she'll just keep pushing you away and making you both miserable." Ginny's tone was grim, and Harry listened quietly as Ginny added, "You've had just about everyone eating out of your hand the last couple of weeks, but Hermione's a tougher nut to crack."

"So I should just give up?" Harry was feeling rather dejected, and it was obvious in his voice.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry—she just admitted that she loves you. You just need to convince her that you feel the same way about her. Words alone aren't going to do it, Harry." Ginny saw Harry blink in confusion, and she elaborated, "It's going to take some kind of dramatic gesture—something that shocks her and convinces her how you feel about her before she has a chance to argue herself out of it. Let it go for now—neither of you is going anywhere. Wait for your moment and take it when it comes."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Neville stirred at Ginny's side. She turned to Neville and said quietly, "Don't get any funny ideas from that, Neville. You've already got me—and I'm not as stubborn as Hermione in any event. The only dramatic gesture I'd like from you is a kiss in the moonlight—and I believe the astronomy tower is vacant at the moment." Neville smiled, and Ginny turned and hugged Harry as she whispered, "Don't let it get you down. Remember that she loves you, and hold onto that while you play your heart out the day after tomorrow."

Harry smiled and whispered back, "Thanks, Ginny." Ginny released him and left with Neville. Harry sighed and left the Room of Requirement to shower and read the book on Parseltongue magic before he got some much needed sleep.

* * *

The stadium was magnificent.

The stands towered far above the field, with most of the empty space in the normal configuration being taken up by seating. Special charms on the stands and the Bludgers would protect the spectators from being hit during the course of the game. Even the one Galleon seats in the upper reaches of the stands were well-padded and comfortable, and the more expensive seats had a pre-set charm ready to produce one of several hot meals at the utterance of a command word. The display board was even larger than the one at the World Cup had been, and it was flickering with light as Harry soared over to confer with Robinson about a point of strategy. Nearby, the Vrasta Vultures were also flying about, getting a sense of the pitch. Robinson answered Harry's question and excused himself to talk to Colton and Morton, and Harry was turning to look over at the Vultures again when he saw a blur of motion coming at him. He was about to react when the blur slowed and stopped, revealing Viktor. Harry nodded and called out, "So—does the Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium pass muster, Viktor?"

"Most definitely—it is a shame that it vill not be a permanent fixture here." Viktor looked at Harry, then over at the flickering display board. "I vill be interested to see this new Omniocular idea being tested—it could revolutionize how Quidditch is conducted and covered by the newspapers."

"Yes—I'm sure it will." Harry looked up at the board, then over at a small alcove just below the Hogwarts box—where Dean was explaining something to Professor Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick. He pointed to attract Viktor's attention and explained, "Dean will control the whole thing from that area. There will be ten different sets of Omnioculars dedicated to the display board, and the charms on them will let Dean see what they are seeing at all times on the wall of the alcove. He can pick any one of them by using his wand, and either show what that pair of Omnioculars is viewing at that moment, or replay something it has viewed previously, at any speed he chooses. There's even one pair of Omnioculars dedicated to the Snitch—after it makes an appearance, the crowd will be able to see where it came from and what happened to it, in a way that doesn't interfere with the game."

"Remarkable." Viktor commented, shaking his head. "Let us hope that our performances tomorrow are vorthy of such an innovation."

Harry nodded in agreement, and decided it was a good time to bring up something he had been thinking about: "Viktor? The crowd is going to be expecting a particularly dramatic game tomorrow—I had an idea for helping with that, if you're willing and circumstances allow it."

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Harry, you're not suggesting--?"

"No—and if you suggested it, I'd hex you into next week." Harry interrupted with a wicked grin, and Viktor relaxed and grinned back at him as Harry continued, "I was just picturing something we could do if it wasn't immediately obvious to the crowd which one of us actually got the Snitch, for whatever reason. Here's what I was thinking—" Harry explained for a couple of minutes, and by the end Viktor was nodding with a thoughtful expression on his face. Encouraged by the reaction, Harry asked, "What do you think?"

"It is a vorthy idea, Harry—if the situation arises, I vould be glad to carry the plan out vith you." Harry brightened at Viktor's quick agreement, though the Bulgarian Seeker added, "But such scenarios are rare, Harry—ve vill be unlikely to be able to use this plan."

"No harm in planning for best circumstances—if we do manage it, the crowd will love it." Harry replied quietly, then turned as the display board flickered, then revealed a huge image of Harry and Viktor. Harry smiled and said to Viktor:

"Smile—you're on Omniovision!"

* * *

In a sealed room inside a large and ancient mansion shielded from the world by the powerful Fidelius Charm, a lone figure sat inside a mystic circle, tracing arcane symbols in his own blood as dozens of candles flickered fitfully. Red eyes glowed inside the figure's hood as a final symbol was completed, and he sighed as he pulled back the hood—revealing the reptilian features of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort smiled as much as his features would allow, and turned to the north wall of the room as he whispered:

"Your doom is coming, Potter—and it will come at the worst possible moment for your friends."

. . . to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired.


	6. Ch 6

Chapter Six

The morning of August 8th dawned, and it was immediately clear that it would be a magnificent day to play Quidditch. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly, and it was obvious by mid-morning that the temperature would be pleasant without being overly warm. Harry rose at the usual time to complete his early morning workout, but he did not take his usual breakfast in his room—his teammates would be in the Grand Hall to eat breakfast, and he wanted to visit with them.

When he arrived in the Grand Hall at half-past-eight, everyone in the castle was already up and there. The Vrasta Vultures were sitting at the Ravenclaw table, and speaking among themselves in a language that sounded like the occasional conversations in Russian that Harry had heard in passing while walking through Diagon Alley. Puddlemere United was, unsurprisingly, at the Gryffindor table, and Harry heard them yell greetings at him as he walked in. He looked across the Great Hall and saw that Hermione was standing near the Gryffindor table, speaking with Luna. He sighed, then walked over to the Gryffindor table, picking one of the empty spaces next to Ron, and leaving an empty place between himself and Oliver. After a moment, Hermione finished talking to Luna and walked back to the Gryffindor table. Without as much as a glance at Harry, she chose a seat at the far end of the table and began serving herself from the heaping plates in the middle of the table. Luna gave Harry a sympathetic look before sitting on the other side of Ron, while Oliver raised an eyebrow at Harry as if to say "What's with Hermione?" Harry shrugged and began talking to Ron—not noticing the dark pair of eyes watching the scene from the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione ate quickly and left the Great Hall, pleased that Harry had not chosen to make a scene. _He's always been more sensible than Ron was. I just need to convince him I'm right, and everything will go back_—

"Hermione."

Hermione froze in surprise, then turned to see Viktor. The Bulgarian Seeker looked somber, and Hermione immediately asked, "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"I vas hoping you could tell me that, Hermione." Viktor replied, watching her closely as he added. "You vent out of your vay to find a seat as far as possible from your two best friends. Since you vere talking quite politely to Ron's new girlfriend, I am assuming that you vere not avoiding Ron, but Harry. Are you angry with him?"

_I am plagued with men who think they're Sherlock bloody Holmes! _Hermione chose not to utter the uncharitable sentiment and took a deep breath before replying: "Viktor—you might have considered the idea that I could be angry with Ron for a reason aside from his romantic choices; after all, we've found dozens of reasons to quarrel over the past five years without public snogging ever having been on the agenda." Viktor raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, and she sighed in mild annoyance and added, "But yes—Harry and I have had a disagreement, and we're not speaking right now."

"I see." Viktor's reply was deadpan and his expression was neutral.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she glared at Viktor as she snapped: "Viktor, I care a great deal for you and have no desire to be angry with you--but don't meddle in my life."

Viktor nodded thoughtfully, impressed with the formidable temper lurking under Hermione's normally placid exterior, and replied, "I have no desire to meddle in your personal life, Hermione. If you have a genuine disagreement vith Harry, I vill leave the two of you to vork it out." Hermione relaxed at the reassurance from her friend, and was startled when Viktor locked eyes with her and added, "But I vill remind you of this, Hermione: Harry vill be on the Hogvarts Quidditch pitch today vith some of the best professional players in the vorld. I am fairly certain that none of them mean him harm, but Quidditch is a violent and dangerous game, Hermione—particularly ven contested among top-flight professionals. Do you really vish Harry to be playing vith the idea that you are so angry vith him that you vill not spend time vith him before he puts his life on the line today?"

Hermione felt a twitch in her shoulder, and knew that she had just come within an eyelash of slapping Viktor. She glared at him furiously as she snarled, "How DARE you try to manipulate me like that! If you really believe that, then how in the hell can you justify having Harry risk his life for nothing but a bloody game?"

Viktor looked at Hermione quietly, then inclined his head to the exit to the courtyard. Hermione followed him out to a quiet area with a bench in the middle of a circle of hedges. Viktor gestured to the bench and they both sat down. After a moment, Viktor looked at Hermione and said quietly, "Hermione—you have to know that this isn't just another Quidditch match: it hasn't been that since Harry agreed to play Seeker for Puddlemere United. For better or vorse, it has become the first battle in the renewed fight against Voldemort, and Harry Potter—the living embodiment of that fight—is in the middle of it. Vat he does during this match vill be of enormous significance, Hermione—however it ends and vatever he does."

Hermione shivered involuntarily, and she felt an irresistible impulse to lighten the mood. She smirked at Viktor and commented, "A bit melodramatic, don't you think? It sounds like you're casting yourself as the villain in this story, Viktor."

"I am the villain, Hermione—at least for today." Hermione blinked in shock at Viktor's reply, and was searching for a reassuring response when Viktor added, "Oh, no one vants to see me get hurt, and some of the fans might have even come just to see me play at Hogvarts. They might not hate me—but they vill vant me to lose, even though they know that I almost certainly vill not. Harry Potter has become the hero of the Vizarding Vorld once again, and anyone directly opposed to him is doomed to the role of villain."

Hermione stared at him, shook her head, and asked, "Viktor—if that's true, why don't you just let Harry get the Snitch? This match isn't for money or to win the Quidditch League championship: it's just an exhibition game to raise money for good causes. If you're so sure that the crowd wants Harry to win, why not just make them happy?"

"Vell, for one thing, he told me that he'd hex me if I even suggested it ven I misunderstood something he said—and I'm rather certain that vould be a painful experience." Hermione smiled slightly at Viktor's darkly humorous comment as Viktor continued, "But there is a rather more basic reason vy I cannot do as you suggest. Vile Harry is the most scrutinized individual in our vorld in these times, there is an area in vich my life has been even more closely documented than Harry's—my performances on the Quidditch pitch. My every move there for three years has been analyzed, recorded, and documented by hundreds of Quidditch reporters and statisticians, and by hundreds of thousands of Quidditch fans. I met a twelve-year old vizard last year who recited to me every move I made for the entire first season I played—vithperfect accuracy, as I discovered ven I checked later. Because of the new Omniovision system and mass production of the Omniocular replays, this vill be the most videly vatched Quidditch match in history. If I vere to do less than my best—even for an instant—it vould be obvious to observers—including Harry—that I had done so, and his victory vould have no meaning. Harry is a brilliant young Seeker, but he is not yet experienced enough to have a reasonable expectation of vinning against me or any of the ten best Seekers in professional Quidditch, and the crowd and all who follow Quidditch know it. Vat Harry can do is play his very best, and make me vork for victory: by facing a seemingly invincible foe vithout hesitation or fear, he vill inspire the crowd—vich vill be made up of vizards and vitches who almost certainly see Lord Voldemort as a similarly invincible foe—and hopefully the entire Vizarding Vorld."

Hermione shivered again. _This is so unfair! Harry's sixteen years old—he shouldn't have to worry about the entire world depending on him! _She considered what she had just thought and sighed sadly. _But Viktor's right—however unfair it is, he's stuck with it._ She looked back at Viktor and asked quietly: "Viktor—what if he wins?"

Hermione was startled to see Viktor smile genuinely at her question. His expression looked almost wistful as he replied, "That vould be the stuff that legends are made of, Hermione—and ve could use a legend right now." Hermione shivered again, and Viktor's expression darkened as he whispered, "But it must be a legend earned fairly—not a sham." He looked into Hermione's eyes and added, "Harry vill need all of the confidence and support that he can get ven he goes out on the pitch today, Hermione—don't deny that to him."

Hermione shook her head in frustration and anger—then nodded once to Viktor. Viktor smiled, and Hermione looked at him and asked, "And what support do you need, my friend?"

"There is always the thrill of the battle, Hermione—and my lovely Irina vill be in the Hogwarts box thanks to the generosity of Professor Dumbledore. Knowing that she is there cheering for me vill be all the support I need." Hermione smiled at the response, and listened as Viktor added, "I vould appreciate it if you vould sit vith her today, Hermione. She could use the company of a familiar face—if only by reputation—and I believe that hearing you cheer for Harry vill probably remedy vatever jealousy she still harbors regarding you."

Hermione nodded and stood up. "I'd be honored to, Viktor. Please tell her that I'm looking forward to meeting her and hearing about her teaching position at Durmstrang." She smiled at Viktor and left.

After Hermione had left, Viktor stood, stretched, and turned to an apparently empty space between hedges before calling out, "You may come out now, my dear—Hermione is gone."

A gasp came out of what appeared to be empty space before Irina faded into view, her wand still positioned to break the Disillusionment Charm she had been under. She glared at him and snapped, "How did you see me, Viktor?"

Viktor grinned wickedly. "My dear—I did not become the best Seeker in the vorld vith my charm, personality, and diabolically handsome countenance." Irina snickered, and Viktor added, "Noticing vat is around me is part of the job; besides, your perfume is very distinctive. As it should be, considering vat I paid to get it for you."

Irina glowered at Viktor, then stepped forward and leaned in to kiss him. After a moment, she pulled back and asked with a seductive smile: "So, my handsome villain—I am to be your sole defender in a hostile land: what is to be my reward for such loyalty?"

Viktor looked at his love quietly, and considered what their future together might bring before replying: "If ve are very, very, fortunate, Irina—it vill be to console me after my shocking defeat at the hands of a hero."

Irina looked at him sadly, then kissed him again.

* * *

At precisely ten in the morning, the crowd began to arrive.

Massive Portkey arrival points had been placed just outside the boundaries of the Hogwarts wards, and a permanent Displacement Charm had been placed on a large field near Hogsmeade, to allow large numbers of wizards and witches to Apparate in without risking splinching each other. The floos in the businesses in Hogsmeade had been made freely available for use by ticketholders, and three special runs of the Hogwarts Express were scheduled for the morning, as well as three more for the evening to return the presumably tired patrons back to their homes.

When they arrived—whichever way they arrived—all ticketholders were asked to sign a piece of parchment before crossing the Hogwarts wards. Those who failed to do so for whatever reason found that the wards blocked their entry (a short-term precaution that had required some rather difficult spellwork by Professor Flitwick and by Professor Dumbledore himself). Those who did sign were effectively making a Wizard's Oath that they intended to do no harm to anyone playing in or attending the game, or anyone else in or near Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, with the effect that if anyone who signed did try to do such a thing, they would immediately suffer six or seven very unpleasant curses before they could even utter a single magic word, and a red flare would immediately go up signaling the location of the offender. For the record, this happened precisely seven times in the course of the afternoon, with only one of the individuals turning out to be a Death Eater—and one still wet behind the ears at that--after questioning under Veritaserum, with the others being only hooligans who hadn't bothered to read the fine print before trying to start a brawl in the stands. Dumbledore had carefully exempted all DA members and all Hogwarts faculty from the requirement in setting up the system (the Aurors and the players, of course, were exempt as a matter of course)—they might be needed in case of an emergency. Another charm—one which was announced in the newspapers beforehand-- caused any Animagus who crossed the Hogwarts wards to glow bright blue unless they uttered a password provided by Dumbledore. Peter Pettigrew did not make an appearance that day, and Rita Skeeter was forced to owl Dumbledore and make a very polite request to him to discreetly provide her with the password. Dumbledore did so, his eyes twinkling as the reporter quietly asked him for the password and watched her cross the wards. When asked about the nature of the precautions, Dumbledore replied with a smile: "They were inspired by a remarkable young woman who takes a very dim view of sneaks and hooligans."

The crowd filed in, sat down, and passed the time amiably, chatting, eating and drinking either the magically provided meals from their seats or refreshments provided by the many vendors scattered throughout the stands. It was a pleasant afternoon, and the buzz of anticipation was clearly in the air. The Hogwarts private box—which contained about five hundred seats and which was situated directly below the announcer's booth—was full, with Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville having seats of honor in the front row next the Hogwarts faculty. Professor Snape was absent.

At precisely one-thirty, Harry Potter and Viktor Krum walked into the Hogwarts box and onto a platform at one side of the front of it. The Omniovision board—which had been showing scenes from prior big matches involving either Harry or Viktor—flickered once and showed a view of the platform. The crowd quieted down, and Harry cast "Sonorus Omnibus" on himself before calling out: "Welcome to the Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium! I think you'll all agree that this is a fine place to hold this afternoon's match between Puddlemere United and the Vrasta Vultures!" The crowd cheered loudly, and Harry waited for it to die down before he added, "It's a shame that it will not be here in a few days—I would encourage you all to give a loud cheer for the remarkable team of witches and wizards—headed by Hogwarts' own Professor Minerva McGonagall—that has given us this remarkable place to see what should be a memorable match between two of the finest teams in the world!" The view switched to a tight shot of Professor McGonagall, who looked a bit uneasy before she smiled and waved to the crowd.

Harry waited again, then continued: "You are all here to see a great Quidditch match—but we are here for another purpose that is far more important. As you know, a menace once thought to have been banished from this world has come to trouble us again—a menace that we all have good reason to want to banish again. The proceeds from ticket sales, refreshments, and other concessions sold at this game, are to be used to establish two trust funds dedicated to dealing with the problems caused by—" Harry paused and waited for the crowd to finish cringing--his willingness to utter the forbidden name of Voldemort had become notorious in the Wizarding World—before continuing: "—the depredations of the Death Eaters, their despicable master, and other Dark Wizards. The first of these funds will be dedicated to helping St. Mungo's and other Wizarding hospitals deal with the costs resulting from healing and otherwise treating the injuries of survivors of attacks by Dark Wizards." Harry turned to the audience within the Hogwarts box and called out, "Mr. Diggory—would you join us on the platform, please?"

Amos Diggory blinked in surprise and stood hesitantly, as his wife smiled supportively next to him. He had been surprised at the invitation from Harry for he and his wife to sit in the Hogwarts box, and he had certainly not expected to be asked to appear with him. He walked slowly to the platform, looking as if he had aged a decade in the past year. Harry nodded to Mr. Diggory and continued: "As terrible as attacks by Dark Wizards tend to be, many wizards and witches survive being victimized by these monsters. Unfortunately, they often do so only after having been wounded gravely in body and/or in mind, forcing them to undergo expensive and lengthy treatment to recover their health, or even to face a lifetime of permanent disability. St. Mungo's and other Wizarding hospitals have been enormously generous in absorbing a measure of the cost for those who are unable to pay for it, but they can only bear so much, and they need help. For this reason, the organizers of this game are endowing a trust to help pay those costs and make it possible to more easily heal the physical and mental wounds suffered in this fight. It is to be named for one of the finest people it has been my privilege to know." The crowd was silent, realizing what was coming and why Amos Diggory was on the platform. Harry continued: "Professor Dumbledore spoke at length at the closing feast at Hogwarts last June about what a fine person Cedric Diggory was, and I would not even attempt to try to improve on it. I will add only that for my part that I feel privileged to have competed against him in the Tri-Wizard Tournament—he was honest, and loyal, and a gifted wizard. He would have graduated this June, and I have no doubt that he would have been at the side of those of us who chose to fight the evil that found its way into Hogwarts within this last year in the person of Delores Umbridge." The Omniovision view shifted at that moment to Cornelius Fudge—who was also sitting in the Hogwarts box—and boos and hisses were heard in the crowd. Fudge looked up from the conversation he was having, and it took great force of will for him not to scowl at the public humiliation. Harry turned back to the Minister while he was out of sight and smiled coldly at him before turning back and continuing, "For these reasons and many more—the organizers of this event have unanimously voted—and asked me to announce—that the trust will be known as the Cedric Diggory Memorial Fund for the Treatment of the Injuries of Victims of Dark Wizards."

The crowd applauded thunderously, and Harry and Viktor joined them before Harry continued, "Of course, a board will be appointed to administer the trust, ensuring that it is used for the purposes for which it was intended in a thoughtful and zealous manner. The leader of that board must be someone who has good reason to understand the seriousness of the crisis that the trust was created to deal with. For this reason, the organizers have selected Cedric's father, Amos Diggory, to serve as the Head Trustee of the Cedric Diggory Memorial Fund."

Mr. Diggory blinked in shock and seemed to sag for a moment as the crowd applauded again, then straightened as Harry turned to look at him. Tears were running down his cheeks, but the Omniovision showed the determination in his eyes and the sense of purpose in his posture. His wife was quickly at his side, and she squeezed his arm firmly as Harry reached out and shook his hand.

Harry waited again, then continued, "A full list of the trustees has been released to the newspapers, and will appear in tomorrow's editions. However, I will announce the name of one more of the trustees tonight—a name that will be familiar to all of you. Viktor Krum has graciously consented to serve as a trustee—as a tribute to his fellow Tri-Wizard Champion, and in recognition of the important cause that the trust will be serving." Viktor shook Harry's hand, then turned hesitantly to the Diggorys, offering his hand. Amos Diggory took the offered hand without a pause, shaking it firmly, and Mrs. Diggory stepped forward and hugged him as the crowd applauded warmly.

After the applause died down again, Harry smiled at Viktor and the Diggorys and continued, "The second trust being created with the proceeds deals with a grim problem: those killed by the despicable crimes of Dark Wizards usually leave survivors behind: parents, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters. . .and children. I was one of those children left behind during the events of the last war, and you know my story. While there were those who tried to look out for me in the dark years after my parents were murdered, I wish that I could have received more direct help for the problems that my loss caused for me—and there were thousands of other wizards and witches who, to one degree or another, shared my need. This trust will be dedicated to helping survivors with financial problems to ensure that they have adequate housing, food, and educational assistance, as well as providing counseling services for those whom the trauma of losing treasured loved ones has proven crushing to their spirits. The trust will be named for a wizard who lost family to Death Eaters during the first war, and in a real sense was orphaned by the prejudices that the Death Eaters and their vile master represent."

The crowd went silent, and Harry took a deep breath before continuing, "Sirius Black was rejected by his family while still at Hogwarts for failing to embrace the prejudices against muggleborn wizards and witches that are all too common among pureblood families. My father's parents were only too happy to take him in, and he had to watch helplessly as his younger brother Regulus chose to become a Death Eater, only to die when trying to escape the horrific situation he found himself in. Rather than letting that loss drive him away from the fight, he continued to fight in the war as best as he could until a tragic event took place that all here should now be aware of. A miserable coward who had been one of his best friends betrayed my parents to their deaths and framed Sirius for the crime. He spent twelve years in Azkaban without having received a trial, and only his courage and force of will allowed him to keep his sanity and manage to escape to seek justice. While he was denied that justice by unfortunate events, he stayed free and continued to fight against the return of the enemy who had so wronged him—until he was murdered by one of the most loathsome criminals at large in our world." Harry paused, and the crowd watched him visibly struggle with the grief he was feeling until he took a deep breath and continued, "I have no doubt that Sirius Black—best friend to my parents and my godfather—would be at the forefront of the fight against the darkness were he still with us, and would be an excellent choice to be the Head Trustee of this trust if he were available to serve. As, sadly, he is not, I am announcing that the Head Trustee for the Sirius Black Memorial Fund for the Assistance of Survivors of the Victims of Dark Wizards will be Sirius' best friend and the man who taught me how to cast the Patronus Charm during his time teaching Defense Against Dark Arts at Hogwarts two years ago, Remus Lupin—who is every bit as motivated and capable of handling the duties of this position as Sirius would have been."

The crowd applauded again, and Lupin stood up, walked over to the platform, and shook the hands of Harry and the other people standing next to him before stepping back and waiting for the applause to die down. Harry again looked back at Fudge—who looked less than pleased at the news. Dumbledore had carefully investigated to make sure that the anti-werewolf laws would not interfere with Lupin being appointed to the Head Trustee position, and Harry had been relieved when their attorneys had determined that it would not be an issue. The position included a comfortable though not extravagant salary, and Harry was glad that his father's friend would finally have financial security from a job that anti-werewolf prejudice would not drive him from.

The crowd was silent again, and Harry thanked Lupin and the Diggorys and asked them to be seated. When they were sitting again, Harry turned back to the crowd and called out, "There's one more matter I need to address before Viktor and I head off to get ready to help give you all a memorable Quidditch match today. One of the most important duties faced by the organizers of this match was to choose an announcer worthy to call it. Many well-qualified announcers were considered before the organizers made the choice based on a simple idea: if you're going to choose an announcer for a Quidditch match at Hogwarts—why muck about with substitutes when the real thing is available? Ladies and gentlemen, I will now step aside and hand the proceedings over to the best Quidditch announcer to walk the halls of Hogwarts in many a year—and who will be calling what will probably be his final Quidditch match at Hogwarts today: graduating Hogwarts student Lee Jordan!"

The occupants of the Hogwarts box cheered loudly, and the rest of the crowd applauded politely as the Omniovision showed Harry and Viktor exiting the Hogwarts box before switching to the view of a handsome young man with dreadlocks. Lee Jordan had a huge smile on his face, and he didn't waste any time taking over as he leaned into the magical microphone and called out: "Thank you, Harry—and to our guests: welcome to Hogwarts! We're here today at the magnificent Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium to witness the one and only Quidditch match to be held within its boundaries before it goes back to being the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in time for the next school year: Puddlemere United vs. the Vrasta Vultures playing a charity match for the fine causes that my good friend Mr. Harry Potter has just finished describing to you. It's a beautiful day here at Hogwarts, sunny and clear and not too hot—just right for us to have a fine day of Quidditch. As you know, this match will last until the Snitch is caught or until eight in the evening—whichever comes first. I seriously doubt the match will go the distance, as it will feature a confrontation between two Seekers who need no introduction: Viktor Krum—the finest Seeker to come onto the scene in many a year, and Harry Potter—the terror of the Hogwarts Quidditch scene since he arrived here five years ago, and just off the suspension wrongly imposed on him by the hag that the Ministry of Magic inflicted on this fine institution last year."

The Hogwarts box erupted in cheers again, and Dean mischievously put Fudge's image back on the Omniovision, provoking loud and merciless booing from the crowd—and this time Fudge didn't bother to hide his angry scowl. Lee snickered, then continued, "We should see quite a confrontation between these two great Seekers, and the rest of the starting squads of both teams are first-rate as well. I'm going to take a few moments to prepare before introducing the two teams, so relax, order some of the fine food and drink being sold by the vendors in the stands, and get ready for one great Quidditch match!"

The crowd cheered, then settled down to do exactly as Lee suggested. Lee smiled, then looked at his notes regarding the players, including statistical notes. _Harry's taking a tiger by the tail going up against Krum—but I've never seen him fail when something nasty hadn't gone to work on him. Should be quite_—

"Mr. Jordan."

Lee flinched at the familiar voice, then turned to see his Head-of-House watching him with a neutral expression. He smiled easily at her and called out, "Hello, Professor—come to make sure I don't get out of line?"

McGonagall shook her head and moved closer, watching Lee carefully as she replied, "I don't have any authority over you any more, Mr. Jordan—and even if I did, I'd only use it to remind you that there are no treacherous Slytherins here today—just a large number of very competent professional Quidditch players who are all playing for an important cause."

"I know that, ma'am," Lee responded, surprised at McGonagall's quiet demeanor. "I'll be quite fair—I doubt that any of these players will try anything dirty. Bound to be rough, though—I hope Harry makes it through in one piece."

"As do we all, Mr. Jordan." McGonagall replied emphatically. Lee nodded, and was surprised when McGonagall's expression softened and she added, "I just came up to wish you luck today."

"Thank you, Professor." Lee was touched by the gesture from the formidable woman who had sat at his shoulder for five years in the announcer's booth. "I just hope I'm up to this job."

"I have no doubt that you are. While you have occasionally gotten carried away in your zeal to defend our House, I have never had cause to doubt your gifts for announcing, or your knowledge and love of the game. The vote to choose you was—for the final vote—unanimous, and my vote was among them." Lee stared at her, and McGonagall smiled openly and concluded, "Do Hogwarts proud today, Lee." She nodded to him and departed down the stairs to the Hogwarts box.

Lee looked after her with a soft smile on his face, then sighed and turned back to wait for the signal that the players were ready to come out on the field.

* * *

Harry walked quickly down the hallway to the dressing room—he was running a little late: the opening introductions were due to begin in ten minutes.

"Harry?"

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned. Hermione was standing behind him, and her expression was anxious. Harry frowned and asked, "Has something happened? Is everything all right?"

Hermione shook her head. "I just wanted to wish you luck, Harry—and to say I'm very proud of you for how you've handled all of this. You've inspired a lot of people by what you've done and said since. . .the Ministry."

"Thank you, Hermione." Harry was still hurt by what had happened in the Room of Requirement, but he appreciated that Hermione would come down here to tell him this. He looked at her and began: "Hermione, I—"

"Don't, Harry." Hermione shook her head firmly, then stepped forward and hugged him firmly as she whispered, "Please come back to us—I couldn't bear to lose you." She released Harry, then fled.

Harry looked after her, feeling sadness mixed with warmth. He sighed and walked to the dressing room, where Robinson was waiting for him along with the other players. Cho—who had donned her Puddlemere United robes and looked positively thrilled—waved to him as he quietly moved to the back of the group. Robinson nodded to him and looked at his team as he began: "No point in a long speech here—you're the best team I've ever played with, and we know we can beat the Vultures. Play hard, but don't go overboard: we're here for reasons more important than winning a game, and there's no use in getting them or ourselves killed. Let's show them what we're made of!"

The players cheered, then filed out. Robinson called out, "Harry—wait up a bit." Harry stopped, and after the rest of the players were gone, Robinson looked at Harry and said, "I know you've got a lot of weight on your shoulders today, Harry—and I had a word with Amanda before she left. Let me make it clear—you're damned good already: if scouts from every pro team in the world had been there for your practices, you'd have fifty offers waiting for you already for when you're out of school and You-Know-Who is dead. You're good enough to belong out there, but Viktor's a tough nut to crack. Just keep your head about you and do your best. We'll take care of the rest." He extended his hand, and Harry shook it as Robinson borrowed a final comment from his American Muggleborn roots: "Give 'em hell, Harry."

Harry smiled and departed through the exit. Robinson took a moment to consider the event they were about to participate in, then followed Harry out—leaving the dressing room empty.

* * *

Lee saw the signal from Madam Hooch—who had been chosen without dissent to referee the match—and returned to the microphone. He took a deep breath and called out: "Ladies and gentlemen—if you'll turn your attention to the pitch, it's time to begin. Again, welcome to this charity match between two of the finest Quidditch teams in the world: Puddlemere United against the Vrasta Vultures!" The crowd murmured in anticipation, and Lee continued: "First—the reserves for the two teams. For Puddlemere United--: Hogwarts' own Oliver Wood! Peterson! Selden! Douglas! Norris! Andrews! And as Reserve Seeker—the newly chosen Head Girl for Hogwarts—Cho Chang!" The seven blue-clad players flew out of the tunnel and did a lap around the pitch, waving as they did so, before landing on the pitch and waiting.

The Hogwarts box cheered loudly again, and the rest of the crowd joined with somewhat less enthusiasm. After a moment, Lee shouted, "And for the Vrasta Vultures—Filitov, Molotov, Anderson, Chirac, Felini, Borzov, and Andropov!" Seven fliers in scarlet robes flew out of the tunnel at the other end of the pitch and did their own lap around the field to general applause.

Lee paused for a long moment, letting the suspense build, then called out: "And now—the starting teams. Going first, the mighty Vrasta Vultures! Introducing—Munchausen! Tolstoi! Romanov! Dimitrov! Volkov! Vulchanov! Annnnd the one—the only—VIKTOR KRUUUUM!!!"

The starting team of the Vultures flew out, and the Omniovision view immediately focused on Viktor, who was waving to the crowd as he lapped the field. As he passed the Hogwarts box, he blew a kiss—and the view immediately changed to show a smiling Irina Gordieva—who was standing next to Hermione in the front row. A small caption appeared at the bottom of the image: The Future Mrs. Viktor Krum—Irina Gordieva.

The crowd roared in approval, and Lee reacted: "Well—that's going to be big news in the papers tomorrow, regardless of how this game turns out: congratulations to Viktor and Irina!" The Vultures landed next to Madam Hooch, and Lee continued: "And now—Puddlemere United! Introducing—Robinson! Adams! Samuelson! Walters! Colton! Morton! And the best Seeker to attend Hogwarts in a long, long time: HARRY POTTER!!!

The crowd cheered louder than ever, and Puddlemere's starting seven flew out without much ado and circled the pitch. Harry looked up at the Hogwarts box as he went by. His friends were all waving—except for Hermione, who was watching with a sad smile on her face. He waved back, then followed his teammates to land by Madam Hooch.

By mutual agreement between the teams, Harry and Viktor were the ones who stepped forward to receive final instructions from the referee: "All right, gentlemen. You and your teammates know what we're here for today. Keep it clean, and try not to get killed." Harry and Viktor nodded and shook hands without being asked to, and were about to leave when Madam Hooch's expression softened and she added, "Nice to see you back where you belong, Potter." Harry smiled at her, then went back to his teammates and mounted his broom.

The players rose into the air and assumed their starting positions. Harry and Viktor rose above the others and took positions face to face, thirty feet apart. Lee watched as Madam Hooch looked around once more and deemed everything to be ready, then began his call of the game: "And the Quaffle is taken by Adams as Puddlemere United's Chasers go into an aggressive attack formation. Volkov sends a Bludger at Adams, who sideslips it nicely. Munchausen drifts up to defend the center goal as Adams passes to Samuelson. To Adams! To Walters! To Samuelson! Samuelson takes the shot—and scores through the left goal! Puddlemere United opens the scoring and leads 10-0!

Harry watched the action as he slowly drifted around the pitch, keeping an eye out at all times to see where Viktor was. Viktor seemed content to stay at a slightly lower altitude than Harry, his own keen eyes scanning constantly for the Snitch. The score stayed close, with both sets of Chasers and the Keepers performing well, and the score was tied at 30 all when Harry saw Viktor dart downward with startling speed, and Lee confirmed it by shouting: "It looks like Krum has spotted the Snitch—yes, I see it!"

Harry did as well, once the players in his line of sight cleared out of the way. There it was, floating along about fifteen feet off the turf and a full four hundred feet away from him: Viktor only had two hundred feet to cover—Harry had no hope of overtaking him. Nonetheless, he dove hard towards the Snitch—if the game was to end this early, he would at least give the crowd an exciting high speed dive to remember.

Lee saw Harry's move and called out: "Potter's diving hard, but Krum is far ahead of him—this may be it, everyone! Krum reaches for the Snitch and here come both Bludgers! Krum easily evades one, but the other is coming right at the Snitch—and the Snitch goes flying out of sight in an instant! Ladies and gentlemen, we have just seen one of the rarest plays in Quidditch—the Sorenson Combination Gambit! By coordinating perfectly and sending one Bludger just in front of Krum, and the other at the Snitch to trigger its Bludger Avoidance Charm, Colton and Morton have saved the game for Puddlemere United and thwarted the best Seeker in the world! Give them a cheer, everyone!"

The crowd roared in appreciation, then again as the play was shown in slow motion on the Omniovision, and Colton and Morton waved once to the crowd before moving back into position to keep an eye out for the Bludgers. Harry—who had still been almost a hundred and fifty feet away when the Snitch went speeding off, had lost sight of it, and he sighed in mixed relief and annoyance as he flew back to his pattern of searching for the Snitch and keeping an eye on Viktor and the rest of the game. He saw that Viktor looked annoyed for a moment, but professionalism quickly asserted itself, and the Bulgarian Seeker went back to his methodical search for the Snitch.

For half an hour more, the game resumed the pattern of the first half-hour: brilliant Chaser play resulting in occasional scores against excellent Keeper play, and the Beaters more or less keeping the Bludgers from inflicting mayhem. That changed quite abruptly with the score tied at 50 one hour into the game, in a moment that reminded him just how brutal professional Quidditch could be. Lee called the play with his usual skill and enthusiasm: "Tolstoi grabs the Quaffle after Adams takes a glancing shot from a Bludger and is forced to drop it. Tolstoi passes to Dimitrov! Dimitrov takes the shot—and Volkov sends a Bludger at Robinson! He must take the hit or allow the goal—" A loud crunch echoed through the stadium as Robinson caught the Quaffle with his hands and stomach and the Bludger smashed into his shoulder and glanced off his head, sending him drifting down onto the pitch where he collapsed into a heap. Lee gasped and called out, "And Robinson saves the goal for Puddlemere United!! But it may be a mixed blessing—there's a medical time out on the pitch, and Madam Hooch casts the Pausing Charm, stopping the Bludgers until we can start again. Robinson may be badly hurt."

The Puddlemere United players—along with the reserves—quickly moved over to Robinson, who was already being treated by Madam Pomfrey and an assistant on loan from St. Mungo's. Robinson was sitting up, but his shoulder was visibly misshapen and his head was bleeding freely from a large gash. Robinson looked to Pomfrey with a pleading expression, but the mediwitch shook her head without hesitation after casting a brief spell: "Broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder, nasty head wound and a mild concussion. You're not doing anything more taxing than bed rest in the Hogwarts infirmary for a few days, Mr. Robinson."

Robinson's face twisted in annoyance, but after a moment he nodded—and winced at the pain the slight movement caused. He looked up at Wood—who was watching with concern—and said softly, "All right then, Oliver—you know what to do. Consider it an audition for a more permanent arrangement." Wood's eyes widened, and Robinson sighed and elaborated, "I'm getting too old for this crap." A stretcher arrived and Robinson was taken away. Harry saw the captain of Puddlemere United give him one last encouraging look before he was carried into the tunnel and out of sight.

Oliver gave his teammates a brief look, then sighed and called out, "All right—let's get back to it." Harry followed the others as they rose into the air, and saw the worried look that Cho gave him as he did.

Surprisingly, the injury did not seem to either increase the ferocity of the players or affect the balance of power in the match by much. The Chasers on both sides remained superb on the attack, and Oliver more than held his own in Keeping as compared to the standards that Robinson had set and which Munchausen was continuing to set. As if the near-collision with a Bludger had frightened it away, the Snitch remained conspicuously absent, and Harry and Viktor continued to circle and look for a target that simply was not to be found. At one point, Viktor caught Harry's eye and shrugged, and Harry shrugged back before they resumed their searches. Harry had moved slightly higher than he had been before, while Viktor stayed at the same altitude, about sixty feet below Harry and some distance away. Harry had to dodge a Bludger about once every fifteen minutes, but he was alert, and the hurtling Bludgers posed little threat to him. The game was five hours old—and Harry was wondering if the Snitch would ever be seen again—when something happened that managed to completely distract him from Quidditch for some time.

It began as a slight twinge in his scar, which caused him to reach for his forehead and grimace. The crowd—focused on the latest Chaser attack by the Vultures, did not notice, and Dean was concentrating on the Quaffle as well. Hermione was the first to notice Harry's movements, and she felt icy fear claw at her heart as she shouted, "Professor Dumbledore! Look at Harry!"

Dumbledore did so, and he paled just as Dean—who had noticed Harry's behavior on one of the small screens--gestured to send the view to the Omniovision screen. One hundred and fifty thousand spectators gasped in dismay as one at the sight of Harry's face twisting in pain as he reached for his scar. A Bludger hurtled at him unnoticed, then glanced off an unseen barrier just before it would have smashed into his chest. Dumbledore frowned and leveled his wand upward, calling out, "Accio Harry!"

A sphere of force flared around Harry as Dumbledore's powerful Summoning Charm hit it and fizzled out. Dumbledore frowned, and the crowd gasped again as Madam Hooch blew her whistle and cast the Pausing Charm, bringing the game to a halt. The players watched, realizing that they could not get to Harry, and wondering with a sense of growing dread what was going on.

Fawkes appeared in a flash of fire on Dumbledore's shoulder. Bird and wizard seemed to commune for a moment, then Fawkes vanished in another burst of flame, only to appear just outside the bubble as it flared into view again. Dumbledore scowled openly, and Fawkes seemed to test the boundaries of the bubble for a few seconds before he vanished and reappeared on Dumbledore's shoulder. Dumbledore looked at Fawkes again and nodded sadly as he said, "I was afraid of that, Fawkes. Thank you for trying."

"What is it, Professor?" Dumbledore turned to face Hermione, and his heart ached at the pain, fear, and helplessness in her voice as she asked again, "What's wrong with Harry?"

"I cannot know for sure, Hermione—but my tests so far point to a grim scenario." On the screen, the force bubble around Harry flared into visibility once again, and Dumbledore added in a voice that barely concealed the anger he was feeling: "However, I believe that the magic being used may have left us helpless to assist him—and that we are about to see the assailant reveal himself to all of us."

The force bubble continued to flicker as an unfocused mass of green seemed to congeal around it and formed into an increasingly visible form. When it finished, there were screams from the crowd, and more than a few people broke into tears. Harry Potter's impromptu prison was completely surrounded and somewhat obscured by a huge glowing green and black symbol that was completely and horrifyingly familiar to the vast majority of the crowd: the Dark Mark.

Hermione saw Luna and Neville trying to comfort Ginny as she screamed in rage, and felt Ron come up next to her. His hand grasped hers and he squeezed tightly as she squeezed back. She closed her eyes at the horrible sight before her, and began to pray.

* * *

"Hello, Potter—enjoying the game?"

Harry knew that voice intimately by now: it inhabited his nightmares and what should have been nightmares. He forced away the throbbing pain from his forehead, and replied, "Hello yourself, Snake-face—how's the effort to replace the incompetent goons the Aurors grabbed at the Ministry going for you?"

"Defiant to the end—keep it up, Potter: it will make it all the more sweet when I crush that arrogant posturing along with the rest of you." Voldemort sounded calm and confident, and Harry shivered inwardly at hearing it. Voldemort chuckled, and Harry heard it in his mind as the evil mastermind asked, "So what do you think about my little surprise, Potter—do you think the crowd is enjoying it?"

Harry looked around—noting that he still had complete control of his body—and was able to perceive the exterior decoration of his prison. He snickered and replied, "Not unless they're fans of tacky Slytherin designs. Over fifty years out of Hogwarts, and you're still stuck with Salazar Slytherin's bad taste in interior decoration."

Harry felt an odd sensation at the edge of his consciousness—as if his mind was a sphere of ice and someone was trying to get a good grip on it, and failing. He frowned, and he was certain that Voldemort sounded mildly frustrated as he resumed taunting Harry: "I happened to know a ritual, Potter. It only works on those of the caster's blood. Useless to me for a long time, of course, but the circumstances of my resurrection changed all that, and the existing link between us has made it all the more powerful. I have trapped you in a powerful sphere of force that cannot be pierced or bypassed by any external magic or other power. You saw that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore try to retrieve you and fail—and even his phoenix could not reach you. You will stay in this place until you die, either by my arts or by simple starvation and thirst. Unless, of course, you can defeat me and force me to cease the spell, and I am listening to your every thought and impulse—you cannot hope to defeat me. The crowd will watch you die, and their spirit will be broken. The last opposition to my rule will crumble like thousand-year old bones, and I will have all the time in the world to find a more competent group of servants, worthy of being by my side. Pity you won't be one of them—you really are a quite remarkable young wizard. You're not a match for me by any stretch of the imagination, of course, but you would have done quite well if you'd just had the sense to submit to the inevitable, Potter."

Between his Occlumency training and his recent experimentation with Parseltongue magic, Harry was accustomed to thinking on more than one level. He replied "You seem very sure of yourself," to the mental presence of Voldemort, while thinking on another level and speaking aloud, "You're a pathetic cowardly son of a useless Muggle, Tom."

"Why yes, Potter, I am very certain of myself—how good of you to notice." Voldemort's reply sounded amused and confident again—and Harry was convinced that he could not possibly have heard the vicious insult. _I can feel him trying to get control of my mind, but something is holding him away—what is it_? He pondered the question while making random remarks to Voldemort—one moment politely interested, the next defiant—and felt the sensation of slipping fingers continue, though it seemed that each time it took a bit longer for the grip to be lost.

Then it hit him. Voldemort thrived on negative emotions—fear, anger, and the like. Harry had been feeling very good about things when Voldemort completed the ritual and trapped him—he would find very little to feed on in Harry's mind at that moment. Furthermore, Harry knew that Voldemort was threatening no one but him at the moment—at least directly. If he could fight off the evil mastermind, he would stop the harm being inflicted on the crowd in the process. _Think—positive emotions are holding him off. Our minds are connected—I should be able to attack him in some way. What's going to work the best_? Harry thought for a moment, and the obvious solution occurred to him. _Yes, but if he realizes in time what I'm doing, he'll end the ritual before my attack can harm him and he'll be free to try it again later under better circumstances for him—I need to keep him from ever wanting to do this again_. Harry thought again, and a solution came to him—and the irony of it made him smile coldly. He carefully moved his hand and grasped his wand, then addressed Voldemort: "You know, Tom—you made one big mistake by choosing today to attack me."

Voldemort was livid at being addressed by his Muggle name by this pathetic excuse of a rival. He took a moment to force down his rage somewhat—no use causing the boy to expire from heart failure due to terror and thereby ruin his sadistic enjoyment prematurely—and replied, "Oh really, Potter? Pray tell—what mistake was that?"

There was silence for a moment, and when the response came, it began softly enough that Voldemort had to strain to hear it, forcing himself more thoroughly into the magical bond between himself and Harry: "You see, you miserable excuse for a wizard. . .I'M HAVING THE MOST WONDERFUL DAY OF MY LIFE!!!"

Voldemort drew back at the force of Harry's thoughts, and it took a few fatal moments for him to realizethat the words sounded odd. When he realized the last sentence had been spoken in Parseltongue—and the probable meaning of that phrase--he felt a surge of fury at his folly and desperately reached out with one hand to physically break the mystic circle he was sitting in.

He was a fraction of a second too late. He saw something huge and bright charging at him, and it smashed into his mind. He screamed shrilly at the indescribable pain for what seemed like forever to him, then fell into darkness.

* * *

No one who was at the match would ever forget that moment: from almost absolute silence, out of nowhere came the sound of Harry Potter's voice, amplified as if by an insanely powerful Sonorus Charm:

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!!!"

The massive Dark Mark vanished instantly, as if it were a feather in the path of a hurricane. On the Omniovision, all could see Harry touching his wand to his scar and concentrating intently. No one breathed for several seconds as the force bubble around Harry flickered, once, twice, then exploded in a massive burst that scattered golden light over everyone in the stadium. All touched by the light felt a tingle, then began to experience an almost irresistible feeling that everything was going to be all right. After a moment, everyone looked up again—and most felt awe at what they were seeing.

Harry Potter was sitting on his broom, smiling broadly—and surrounded by a silvery outline of a stag that was probably the size of an elephant. There were oohs and ahs, and a certain number of gasps. Hermione looked at Ron and smiled, and Ginny, Luna and Neville hugged each other in excitement as the stag slowly faded from view and Harry began to fly downward quickly. He landed next to Madam Hooch and began to speak. The referee listened for a moment, and the Omniovision showed her shaking her head in disbelief as she offered her hand and Harry shook it firmly. There was an unexpected flash of fire, and Fawkes was there. Harry reached into a pocket and pulled out some parchment, on which he scribbled a note and tied it around Fawkes' leg. The phoenix vanished and re-appeared next to Lee Jordan—who had been as transfixed as the rest of the crowd at the drama of the past few minutes. He took the note and nodded to Fawkes before reading the message, blinking, and leaning back to the microphone: "I have a message to read." The crowd went absolutely silent, and Lee read aloud: "Lord Can't Kill Me has been sent packing with a rather nasty headache, unless I miss my guess. Let's finish this match, shall we? Cheers, Harry."

There was a moment of shocked silence, then the cheers began—and they rendered trivial those that had come before. The stands shook and the goalposts quivered with the sound of sheer, unbridled joy and triumph as Harry flew upward and took a lap of the pitch. He flew right by the Hogwarts box and slowed down long enough to meet the eyes of his friends in the front row, and the others there—the DA, the Weasleys, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who were present. Hermione smiled at him, heedless of the tears running down her face, and Dumbledore inclined his head with an expression of utmost respect. Harry winked, then waved and returned to his spot. There would be less than an hour to complete this match, and though topping what had gone on before seemed to be an impossible task, Harry intended to try.

Madam Hooch started play, and the action began again, fast and furious.

* * *

"This is so boring." Bellatrix Lestrange toyed with her wand and looked at the other occupants of the room in annoyance. "I'd love to be out torturing some Muggles rather than lurking in this bloody fortress doing nothing."

"Yes, we know, Bella—you've been saying that for hours now." Snape sounded more resigned to than irritated by Bellatrix's complaints as he examined the state of the shatterproofing spells on the small potion bottles he carried into the field. "If you want to do so, feel free—you are second-in-command, after all. I wouldn't think that the Dark Lord would reward the blatant insubordination it would represent, however."

Bellatrix scowled. "You're no fun, Sev." She shook her head and commented, "I wish we could have gone to the Quidditch match instead of sending that fool of a trainee to infiltrate. Mind you, I'd like to see Potter dead, but it sounded like it was going to be a bloody good match. Haven't seen a Quidditch match in fifteen years now—I miss it."

Snape snorted contemptuously. "I have to tolerate far too much Potter worship in the course of my duties as the Dark Lord's spy at Hogwarts to want to encounter more."

The other five Death Eaters in the room were low-ranking trainees, and knew better than to participate in banter between their betters. Bellatrix smirked at Snape and replied, "You let that boy get under your skin too readily, Sev. One would think that you were still smarting from your defeats at the hands of that dead fool James Potter—"

At that moment, a scream pierced the relative quiet of the mansion. There were no prisoners in the dungeon, and the sound had not come from any of the five lesser Death Eaters who had thrown themselves to the floor in absolute terror at the horrifying sound. Bellatrix turned to Snape, then jumped to her feet and ran for the sealed door at the other end of the room, reaching it just as the scream faded. She was starting to level her wand when Snape's voice quietly reminded her: "He gave strict orders that he was not to be disturbed, Bella."

"Sev—he wouldn't have screamed like that unless something terrible had happened to him. We've both seen him take Cruciatus spells and shake them off like they were nothing. He could be dying in there." Bellatrix stared at Snape with an implacable expression and snapped, "I'm going in after him—and I'm ordering you and the useless baggage back there to help."

Snape frowned, then turned and ordered the lesser Death Eaters to rise and form a semi-circle ten feet in front of the doorway. Snape and Bellatrix looked at each other, then raised their wands along with the other five as Bellatrix called out: "One—two—THREE!!"

Seven Reductor Curses hit the door, which chipped and shuddered but did not open. Snape called out, "Again!", and three more rounds of curses reduced the door to kindling. Bellatrix ran in and gasped, and the others followed her in to see what had caused her to react in that manner.

Lord Voldemort—the terror of the Wizarding World—was lying in a crumpled heap in the center of the ritual circle traced in blood, and he was twitching violently, as if he was being subjected to massive electrical shocks. The five lesser Death Eaters were frozen in terror, and Bellatrix didn't bother to try to snap them out of it, or to kill them for their cowardice. She turned to her only peer in the room and asked bluntly, "What's wrong with him?"

Snape leveled his wand at Voldemort—praying that whatever had attacked the Dark Lord wouldn't backlash against him too—and cast a diagnostic spell. He raised an eyebrow at the information he received, and turned back to Bellatrix with a grim expression: "Massive nerve damage—I don't think that even an hour under Cruciatus would have done this much to him. We should probably Stun and sedate him—he has remarkable recuperative powers, and we should wait to see what that can do for him before trying drastic measures." _If only I could give him my potion—it would drain his power drastically for a substantial period. Unfortunately, he is very aware of the side effects of the potion, and he would undoubtedly see me dead for having crippled him, even if it is only temporary_.

"What about that anti-Cruciatus potion you've been working on, Sev?" Bellatrix's voice intruded into Snape's thoughts, and the question caused him to feel a moment of amazement at how fate could sometimes play in one's favor. He turned back to face his fellow Death Eater, and Bellatrix pressed, "Wouldn't that heal him?"

Snape frowned, pretending to consider the question. "It should—but there might be side effects, and it has not been fully tested for this specific purpose. I do not think that the Dark Lord would want us to—"

"Sev—I'm in charge when he's disabled, and you just told me that your potion will save him. I'm ordering you to use it." Bellatrix glared at Snape, and the other Death Eaters in the room shivered as she added, "It's my call, and you know it."

Snape feigned reluctance, then replied, "Very well—all here will bear witness to the fact that you ordered me to take this course. I hope we do not have cause to regret it." He walked out of the ritual room and to the potions cabinet, from which he removed a large flask of a liquid that was completely black. He returned to the ritual room with the potion and stopped next to Bellatrix before commenting, "We'll have to Stun him—he'll need the full dose, and his convulsions might cause an unfortunate amount of spillage."

Bellatrix nodded, and she and Snape leveled their wands at Voldemort and simultaneously shouted "Stupefy!" Voldemort's convulsions stopped—though he still twitched occasionally—and Snape knelt next to Voldemort and administered the potion, making sure that he swallowed every drop. Snape immediately picked up Voldemort before the potion could start taking effect and called out, "I'll take him to his chamber to rest—it will take some time for the effects to be known."

Bellatrix looked at Snape and nodded, and Snape left the room with Voldemort in his arms. He was tempted to simply Apparate away with Voldemort and take him to Hogwarts, but he knew that there were properties that the Dark Lord possessed that he was not familiar with—an attempt to abduct him might cause some sort of fail-safe to be triggered that would kill him and leave Dumbledore blind as to what Voldemort was doing. He sighed at his ambivalence before continuing off to drop his burden in Voldemort's richly furnished bedchamber.

* * *

The sunset was beautiful, but Harry had no time to appreciate it as he continued to search for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Viktor as they both circled the pitch, looking for the telltale sign of the tiny ball that could end the match early. There were but ten minutes left until the match would be called, and the Vultures had pulled ahead 160 to 150. This match would be remembered for a long time, but without the Snitch being caught, it would always seem a bit lacking.

Suddenly, Harry's gaze fell on the center of the pitch, and—in an area where no players from either team were near—he saw a glimmer of gold as the reddening light from the sunset glanced off of a tiny object directly over the center of the pitch and about fifty feet below Harry. Harry did not intellectualize—he simply went into a power dive at the object three hundred feet away, and only had time to notice that Viktor—who was at about the same level as the Snitch and about fifty feet closer—had began to move towards the Snitch at the same instant that he had.

Lee's sharp eyes spotted the sudden motion from the two Seekers, and he only had time for a brief shout: "The Seekers have spotted the Snitch, and are diving at it from opposite sides—it'll be close!"

The two blurs seemed to converge, and Hermione had to choke down a scream as it looked for an instant as if they'd collide. They passed each other, and gradually slowed to a stop. The Snitch had vanished, and Harry and Viktor had buried their hands in their robes as they turned to face each other—fifty feet apart. The crowd was murmuring at the exciting near-miss, and it was only after a few moments that they realized that something very unusual was happening, and Lee Jordan quickly made it clear what it was: "The Snitch is gone—one of them must have it, but they're playing it cagey for some reason." There was a pause, and Lee made it clear that he had more than passing familiarity with Muggle sports as he shouted, "The Snitch-Cam. For heaven's sake, Dean—show the replay on the Snitch-Cam!"

Dean quickly complied, and the Omniovision showed the Snitch glowing in the sunset in the center of the screen, as Harry approached from above and the left, while Viktor came straight across from the right. Viktor seemed to be a bit closer, but Harry was diving, and he was visibly gaining as the view tightened and the speed of the replay slowed. The view tightened further and further, until the Snitch was alone on the screen for an instant—then two hands began to appear on the screen with agonizing slowness. One hand was reaching up from beneath and to the left of the Snitch, while the other was reaching across from the right and across—and they seemed to be dead even as they approached the glimmering object. Inch by inch, the hands reached for the Snitch, and the crowd watched in absolute silence as the hand coming from below—with just the hint of blue robe visible at the edge of the screen—closed over the Snitch an instant before the other hand would have done so, then pulled away quickly as the other hand closed on air.

The view shifted to the two Seekers looking at each other—then Harry Potter pulled his right hand from his robes and displayed the struggling Snitch.

Lee Jordan recovered first. "POTTER HAS THE SNITCH!! POTTER HAS THE SNITCH!! IN WHAT MAY HAVE BEEN THE MOST MEMORABLE QUIDDITCH MATCH EVER PLAYED, HARRY POTTER HAS BEATEN VIKTOR KRUM TO THE SNITCH BY THE BAREST FLICKER OF AN EYELASH AND WON THE MATCH FOR PUDDLEMERE UNITED, 300 TO 160!!"

The crowd erupted again, and the cheers were only slightly less deafening than the ones his ejection of Voldemort had provoked. Both the starting and reserve squads of Puddlemere United quickly were in the air surrounding him, and they led him in a victory lap as the crowd continued to cheer without pausing. There was bedlam in the Hogwarts box as Harry's friends and classmates celebrated, and Dean did a pan shot of the view there, revealing the celebrations to all. Irina was smiling sadly, watching Viktor look up at Harry with wonder on his face.

After passing the Hogwarts box, Harry broke away from his teammates and flew over to where Viktor was floating, then cast "Sonorus Omnibus" on himself once more. He shouted, "If I may have everyone's attention for a moment?" The crowd settled down quickly, and Harry appeared on the Omniovision next to Viktor. He nodded, and continued, "Well—that certainly was as great a match as anyone could have expected, in spite of that party-crasher I was forced to show to the exit a little while ago." The crowd cheered loudly again, then quieted as Harry signaled for silence and continued, "I'd like to thank my teammates on Puddlemere United for a fine performance and for keeping me in one piece, the Vrasta Vultures for a fine and cleanly played match, and most especially to the greatest Seeker I've ever met, Viktor Krum—who did me the honor of giving me his very best on this day, which led to a moment I'm sure neither of us will never forget."

Viktor smiled ruefully at Harry and nodded, and the crowd cheered at the reaction, but Harry wasn't paying attention. His eyes went to the Hogwarts box, and on a single slender figure standing in the front row. He swallowed hard, and inspiration hit him with the force of a freight train. He looked back at the crowd and concluded, "Excuse me, everyone—there's something I need to do now." He turned away from Viktor and started flying slowly towards the Hogwarts box, with a determined expression on his face.

Ron stared as Harry approached and drew his wand, and asked, "What's he doing?"

"Making a dramatic gesture." Ginny and Luna spoke at the same time, and both were smiling broadly. Hermione heard them, and she stared at Harry with increasingly uneasiness as he leveled his wand in the general direction of the box and hissed loudly. The Sonorus Omnibus Charm was still active, and the whole crowd could hear the hiss: there were more than a few people in that moment who wondered if the strain of the huge game and battling Voldemort had finally caused Harry to go around the bend. That impression was not dispelled when the Omniovision view showed Hermione floating gently out of the Hogwarts box and drifting over to Harry—who had stopped forty feet in front of the box—before settling on the broom in front of Harry, facing him.

Hermione's expression indicated that she was most definitely not amused, and she leaned in close to Harry, allowing the Sonorus Omnibus Charm to carry her words to the crowd as she snapped, "Look, Harry—I'm thrilled you're safe, and I'm very proud of you for what you've done tonight. . .but if you think you're going to change my mind by casting a simple Summoning Charm that I taught you in the first place, you're sadly mistaken."

The crowd watched in silent fascination as Harry's expression changed to a soft, satisfied smile that caused Hermione to blink as Harry replied, "Hermione—it's not the spell I cast: it's how I cast it."

Hermione frowned in confusion. That had been a remarkably gentle Summoning Spell, and he had cast it by-- Hermione gasped, then whispered: "You cast that spell in Parseltongue—what were the words you used for the incantation, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, then looked around and realized that one hundred and fifty thousand people were leaning in, raptly waiting to find out what he had said. He smiled apologetically at the crowd, then pointed his wand at his throat and whispered "Quietus" before he leaned in and whispered into Hermione's ear.

Hermione drew back from him, and her hand went to her mouth as her eyes widened in complete shock. The Omniovision view tightened, and all could see that Hermione's eyes—which had been implacable when she had first landed on Harry's broom—were full of tears, and a dazed smile was slowly spreading across her face. Her lips moved, and most could read them clearly: "Oh, Harry." She leaned forward, and Harry met her halfway as they kissed.

The crowd murmured, then began to cheer as Harry and Hermione continued kissing, with the Omniovision backing off far enough to keep things decent, but it remained the center of attention as Dean smiled in the control booth.

In the Hogwarts box, everyone was talking, but Ron's voice cut through the confusion: "What did he say?" He saw that Professor Dumbledore was watching his two prize students with a look of understanding on his face, and asked, "Professor Dumbledore—do you know?"

"I have a good idea, Ron—but there is one person here who could tell us with certainty." Dumbledore turned and looked over at a lovely red-haired girl who had tears running down her cheeks--accompanied by a huge smile--and asked gently, "Ginny—can you tell us what Harry said to cast that Summoning Charm?"

Ginny looked at the smile on Dumbledore's face and realized that he had long known her secret, and that her tears had betrayed it to the others. She looked around at her friends and family, then back at Harry and Hermione. As the tears continued to roll down her cheeks, she smiled again and answered in a voice full of wonder and joy for her friends:

"Come to me, my love."

Everyone in the booth stared at her for a moment, then turned to see Harry and Hermione flying towards the exit tunnel. Ron began to clap, and the others joined him as the young lovers left the scene of a Quidditch match that would be talked about for as long as the game was played, and as the sun set on the cheering crowd in the magnificent stadium that would soon only be a memory.

Author's Note: There are still a few loose ends to tie up, and I will be adding an Epilogue to deal with them.

As always, comments are welcomed and desired.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

Voldemort stirred, and his eyes snapped open as he immediately realized that something was very wrong. His last memory was of the nerve-searing attack that Potter had managed to hit him with through the ritual link. The abilities that decades of experimentation had given him—and the ritual that recreated his body had restored to him—would allow him to regenerate such damage, but it would have taken weeks of isolation and meditation to do so. The pain was gone and he found that he could move, but his perceptions were altered—he could tell that he was in his bedchambers, but he could not see in the darkness, as he had been able to since he had mastered the "red eyes" mutation. He waved a hand and called out "Lumos!"

The room lit up, but far less brightly than even the wandless spell should have produced. Voldemort frowned and got up from his bed, walking over to a large mirror at the other side of the room. When he beheld himself, he bellowed loudly enough to rattle the walls, and produced an immediate response. The sound of loud footsteps approached, and Bellatrix burst in, followed closely by the five lesser Death Eaters, and last of all by Snape—who had been checking a batch of Polyjuice Potion in the lab. Bellatrix stopped dead at the sight of her Lord standing with his back to the door in front of the mirror and shouted in excitement, "Master! You're all right!"

"What a terribly insightful and helpful observation, Bella. Am I to take it that you are responsible for my recovery from the unfortunate events of the evening of August 8th?" Voldemort's voice was silky smooth, and the five lesser Death Eaters in the room shuddered at the sound of it. Snape—accustomed to concealing his thoughts and emotions—kept his expression blank, though inside he was laughing like a madman.

Bellatrix was completely unaware of the reactions of the other Death Eaters in the room, and answered Voldemort's question eagerly. "Yes, my Lord. I was aware of the work that Severus had done in perfecting an anti-Cruciatus potion, and when he told me that your nerve damage was much like what extended Cruciatus exposure would cause, I ordered him to use it on you. He was reluctant—said something about side effects—but clearly he was wrong, as it is only a few hours later and you are all right!"

There were several seconds of ominous silence before Voldemort replied in a dangerous whisper, "All right? All right?" He pulled out his wand—his back still turned to the door—and called out, "Lumos!" The light in the room brightened, and Voldemort turned abruptly to face his followers, snapping, "Do I LOOK all right to you, you foolish woman?"

Bellatrix stared, the lesser Death Eaters looked confused, and Snape raised an eyebrow. Gone were the menacing red eyes and the reptilian features that had haunted the nightmares of countless wizards and witches for more than a decade. It was the face of Tom Riddle that confronted the shocked dark wizards and witches, but the voice was still Voldemort's. He locked eyes with Bellatrix and snarled, "Well—what do you think of your handiwork, Bella?"

Bellatrix blinked, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind in the midst of her terror and confusion: "Uh, Master. . .you're very handsome."

Voldemort scowled, leveled his wand, and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix cringed as the green bolt crossed over her shoulder and struck one of the lesser Death Eaters squarely: he gasped and crumpled, dead before he hit the ground. Voldemort smirked, then aimed at Bellatrix before snarling, "Stupefy!" The Stunning Spell hit Bellatrix directly between the eyes, propelling her back out of the bedchamber and into an unconscious heap. The four remaining lesser Death Eaters froze in absolute terror until Voldemort rolled his eyes and muttered, "Get out of here, you useless baggage—and take that carrion with you." The relieved Death Eaters practically fell over each other in complying, and Snape was about to follow them when he heard the Dark Lord speak again: "Severus—a word, if you please. Close the door as you come in."

Snape did so, with relatively little dread—if Voldemort wanted to kill him, he would have done it in front of witnesses. When he turned to face Voldemort, the evil mastermind was staring at himself in the mirror. Snape took two steps forward and called out, "I am at your service, my Lord."

"Of course you are, Severus—and I am pleased with that service, particularly now. It's good to know that I have at least one servant who isn't a complete idiot." Voldemort did not turn to Snape as he spoke, and he raised his eyebrow at his reflection before commenting, "You know, she was right. I am rather handsome." He sighed and turned to face Snape as he added, "Alas, I undertook my transfiguration for some very good reasons—including the increased physical resilience and regenerative abilities it granted to me. Your potion is remarkable, but it has left me rather weakened, and I will need to spend several months regaining my strength and re-transfiguring my body to its former glory. That demonstration I just conducted should keep any of my minions from getting any ideas about replacing me. It is unfortunate that your duties as my spy at Hogwarts keep you away most of the time, Severus. Bella is a perfect lieutenant for field operations, but her competence is lacking elsewhere—she should have had the wit to listen to you. When we break our captured brethren out of captivity, I shall put Lucius in charge of non-combat operations in my absence. I am almost tempted to recall you to serve in that capacity yourself, Severus—but I fear that you have never quite had the inherent sadism required for the job."

Snape opened his mouth in preparation to protest, and Voldemort cut him off: "Severus, did you really think you could serve me for this long without my realizing your true nature? You chose to serve me because of the opportunities it presented you for power and for practicing your arts—you're not in it for the Muggle torturing and the like. I can accept that—you're just not particularly sadistic. Your other talents more than make up for that failing."

Snape raised an eyebrow and dared to joke: "I suspect my non-Slytherin students would disagree with you if they thought you would not kill them for it, my Lord."

Voldemort was silent for a moment, then chuckled before replying, "So my spy among those students has told me, Severus—and Potter would agree most of all, I suppose." Snape felt a chill, but remained impassive as Voldemort continued, "A shame you haven't been able to break his spirit, Severus—I underestimated how dangerous he would be when in his element. I will not repeat that mistake. When I attack again, it will be at a time of my choosing, and when he is at his weakest. I will not let pride or arrogance deny me my inevitable victory again." Snape was silent, and Voldemort studied him for several moments before concluding, "You may depart, Severus. You have been away from Hogwarts for a few days, I believe, and that fool Dumbledore will be wondering what you have been doing. Also, I will need to know what the aftermath of my public setback at Potter's hands will be. I will summon you when I am ready for you to report."

Snape knelt and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes before leaving the room—passing Bellatrix's crumpled form as he did so—and apparating back to Hogsmeade. He waited until he had walked back to the castle and reached the privacy of his own chambers before beginning to tremble all over.

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he rolled out of bed, turning to the window as he yawned. The sun was already well over the eastern horizon, and Ron and Neville were nowhere to be seen. He quickly showered and dressed, then walked down the stairs with an absent smile on his face. He reached the bottom of the stairs, turned—and found himself face to face with Hermione, who had a similar smile on her face. They said, "Good morning," at the same time, then blushed in reaction to the moment.

They had flown through the tunnel the night before and straight up to the virtually deserted castle, where they landed in the courtyard. Harry had asked Hermione to go to her room and put on the most beautiful dress she could find or transfigure, and to meet him in front of the Room of Requirement in half an hour. She had gone straight for the hair potion, then retrieved the black dress and Transfigured it in an even more daring way than she had for Harry's birthday party. When she was ready, she had walked to the Room of Requirement—surprised that the corridors were still empty—and found Harry wearing a traditional Muggle tuxedo. He had offered her his arm, and they walked into the Room.

The Room seemed to be lit by moonlight and starlight, and Hermione quickly realized that Harry had ordered the Room to emulate the charms on the ceiling of the Great Hall. A single table for two sat in the center of the room, and Harry carefully held the chair for Hermione as she sat down. When they were both seated, there was a sudden pop, and Dobby appeared. The house elf's huge eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Harry Potter and his good friend have discovered that they love each other at last! Dobby has waited so long for this day!"

Hermione blinked and asked, "You knew, Dobby? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Dobby would never presume to tell wizards and witches—even great ones like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger—what they feel. House elves understand feelings of humans—we must know this to do our jobs." Dobby looked very happy: he was bouncing up and down and smiling widely. "All of us house elves at Hogwarts have known about how you two loved each other, and knew that one day you would find each other. It is a happy day when a great wizard and a great witch discover their love for one another."

"Thank you, Dobby." Harry wondered irreverently if the reason the other house elves would be glad was that Hermione would presumably be too preoccupied with Harry to be scattering hats and other clothing items around in Gryffindor Tower for the next year. He looked at Hermione, then suggested, "Why don't we order our meals now, Hermione? I'll order for you, and you order for me."

Hermione smiled at the suggestion, and they found that they knew each other's tastes rather well after five years together at Hogwarts. They ate in silence, enjoying the excellent meals while looking at each other occasionally. When they had finished, Dobby appeared again and snapped his fingers, causing the plates and the table to disappear. He called out, "Good night!" and vanished.

Harry smiled and looked over at Hermione—who was smiling back at him with a calculating expression. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "All right—what are you plotting over there? Whenever I see you with that expression, someone's about to get it."

"Nothing sinister this time, Harry—I just had an idea." Hermione took Harry's arm and led him out of the Room, closed the door, and paced a bit before opening the door again. Harry blinked: the lighting in the room remained the same, but there was now a hardwood dance floor in the Room, and dance music was playing, though there was no apparent source for it. He looked at Hermione and commented, "You know, we may have unleashed a monster by revealing the existence of this room. Some of the more creative students here might—"

"Something to worry about when I'm back to being a prefect, Harry." Hermione led Harry back into the Room and into the middle of the dance floor, then slipped her arms around the back of his neck as she added, "For right now—shut up and dance, Potter."

Harry quickly complied, though—in spite of the romantic setting—they soon found themselves talking as they danced, about subjects that had nothing to do with magic or danger or even love. They stayed that way until the wee hours of the morning, until exhaustion set in and they returned to Gryffindor Tower. They paused at the entrance to the stairs to the dormitories and kissed for a long time in the flickering light of the fire before they broke apart and reluctantly said goodnight to each other and headed up the stairs. Harry was exhausted, and did not note that neither Ron nor Neville was in their bed before slumber claimed him.

Now, after a good night's sleep and the accompanying time to absorb the whole situation, Harry was startled at just how. . .comfortable it felt to be walking hand-in-hand with Hermione to the Great Hall for breakfast. He wondered how his friends would react when they saw the new couple, and was grateful that it would only be those few, along with the Hogwarts faculty. After all, crowds could be awfully overwhelming at times.

Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall and stopped dead in their tracks a few feet inside. The Hall was packed full of familiar faces—their fellow Hogwarts students and recent graduates, a substantial number of their family members, and more than a few members of the Order of The Phoenix. Harry and Hermione blinked, looked at each other, and turned around, only to have the doors slam shut before they could depart. A playful voice called out, "Not so fast, you two—we've been waiting all night for you to get here." Harry and Hermione turned around, and Tonks—it had been her voice, and they knew no one else who would appear in public with purple hair—walked up to them and chided, "It's not really a party until the couple of honor arrives." Tonks raised her voice and shouted, "Look who's here, everyone!"

Heads turned, and a loud cheer filled the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione sighed and walked forward, with Tonks following them and smirking. Suddenly, there was a burst of motion, and Harry only had time to see a red dress and blue eyes before he felt strong arms grab him around the neck and warm lips meeting his. He froze in surprise and did not resist, though he did not cooperate, either. After a moment, the woman pulled away, and Harry stared before stammering, "Amanda—what in the world?"

"You didn't think I'd stay away, did you?" Amanda Talbot, formerly Amanda Davis, was grinning wickedly at him, and was visibly amused at the blush spreading across Harry's face as she added, "We were in Tokyo when the word arrived about what had happened, and we must have broken the intercontinental apparating speed record in getting back here. My God, Harry—you don't do anything by half-measures, do you?"

Harry was hardly hearing what Amanda was saying—he was busily processing the fact that an extremely beautiful older married woman had just kissed him in front of both his new girlfriend and her husband. He swallowed hard, and turned to Hermione—who was biting her lip. Harry opened his mouth to apologize, only to be interrupted when Hermione started laughing. Harry stared at her, and after a moment she choked out, "I'm sorry, Harry—but you look like someone who's waiting to be hanged. I am worldly enough to know the difference between cheating and being assaulted, you know." Amanda snickered, and Harry frowned, slightly annoyed at Hermione's placid reaction. Hermione noticed the change of expression, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, "Besides—if you wanted me to be the jealous type of girlfriend, you shouldn't have convinced me so completely that you're in love with me, Harry."

Harry sighed. _I'm not going to be able to outmaneuver her again any time soon_. He remembered another problem, and turned to see a face he only knew from team photos that Oliver had shown him. Roland Talbot—a slender dark-haired man a few inches taller than Harry—laughed and commented, "Relax, Harry. Hell, after what you did, I'm almost tempted to kiss you myself—but I think you've had enough lurid press coverage for a while."

Harry nodded in fervent agreement, and Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Luna approached the group. Hugs were exchanged and hands shaken, and Ron commented, "You two have been missing a great party—but it can really get started now that you're here."

Hermione looked around and noted the refreshment tables stacked high with food and beverages—including one table that seemed to contain some rather more adult beverages than was the norm at Hogwarts. She frowned and asked, "You've been here all night having a party with Firewhiskey in the room! What would the Hogwarts Board of Governors say about that?"

"Good question, Hermione—why don't you ask them?" Ginny snickered, then pointed to the back of the Hall. . .where the great majority of that powerful Board were gathered and chatting with Hogwarts faculty and Professor Dumbledore himself. Dumbledore noted the stares and waved, and the twinkle in his eyes was visible all the way across the Hall. Hermione scowled, then shrugged and went to get a plate for herself.

"You might want to look at some of this stuff." Harry turned to Neville as he spoke, and saw that his friend was pointing to a table where several letters and packages were sitting. "Owls have been arriving all night. We separated out the ones with familiar names and checked them for hexes and traps."

Harry nodded and walked over to the table, where his eyes immediately fell onto a letter attached to a copy of the Daily Prophet. He raised an eyebrow at the name on the return address, then opened the letter:

_Hello,_

_I'll expect to hear from you about a convenient time and place for that exclusive interview, Harry. After all, public heroes have to live up to their word of honor. You won't have to sit for the photo, though—you've already provided quite enough of those._

_Congratulations,_

_Rita Skeeter_

Harry opened the copy of the Daily Prophet, and the huge scare headline at the top of it caught his eye immediately:

HARRY POTTER BATTLES YOU-KNOW-WHO; WINS MATCH; GETS GIRL

Directly below the headline were three photos: the first showed the huge Dark Mark being dissipated just before the force bubble around Harry exploded and revealed him; the second showed the close-up of Harry's hand closing over the Snitch, then the one of Harry revealing and holding up the Snitch; the third showed Hermione's shocked expression, then Harry and Hermione's triumphant kiss. The caption directly beneath the photos read: Story and Photos by Rita Skeeter.

Hermione snatched the paper out of Harry's hands and read the article quickly, turning pages occasionally as Harry waited quietly. After a few moments, Hermione's eyes widened, and she turned to Harry as she said quietly, "You should read this last part, Harry."

Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder and read:

_I would like to end this article with a point of personal privilege—to address my personal impressions of the events that took place at the Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium on August the 8th._

_Harry James Potter has been a major part of all of our lives since that happy day almost fifteen years ago when word got out that You-Know-Who was apparently dead and gone, and that we had an innocent one-year old newly orphaned wizard to thank for it. Since that day, he has been an object of adulation of a grateful Wizarding World, a subject of curiosity after he re-entered public view and began his education at Hogwarts, and a target of scorn and contempt due to the blindness of the people who were supposed to be keeping vigil against the return of evil—and who could not tolerate the light of the truth that a brave young man and his friends were trying to pass on to the world. During all of those times, whether he was being lauded as a champion or vilified as a lying fool, I believe that very few if any of us had any idea of who Harry Potter really was as a person. In hard times, we reach out for convenient symbols to love, to hate, and—most of all—to help us understand the events that shape our lives. Harry Potter became one of those symbols through no choice of his own, and he has had to bear the consequences. However, in those moments when the one hundred and fifty thousand souls at the great Quidditch match saw Harry Potter in what looked like the fatal grip of You-Know-Who, we knew despair, then hope as the foul Dark Mark vanished from sight, then pure joy as Harry shattered his prison with the force of the spell that Remus Lupin taught him two years before. In those moments, in a very real way we **were** Harry Potter—we knew and at last possibly truly understood- from the evidence of our own eyes and the feelings in our hearts-the trials that he has been faced with, and which he will continue to be faced with as long as You-Know-Who threatens us. None of us can know how this epic confrontation will finally be resolved—but there is no longer any question regarding the stakes involved, or regarding the moral fiber of the young wizard who—in view of the entire world—won a victory for all of us today in what promises to be a dark war indeed._

_Our prayers should be with him._

Harry shook his head. "Bit melodramatic, don't you think? And not exactly objective journalism." Hermione turned, and Harry blinked as he saw that her eyes were full of tears. "Hermione, what—"

Hermione reached out and hugged him tightly-causing Harry to drop the paper-as she whispered, "Just be quiet, Harry."

Harry began to open his mouth, then shut it again as he embraced her, and they stood like that for a long time as the celebration continued around them.

* * *

The senior members of the Order of the Phoenix met at 12 Grimmauld Place on the evening of August 11th, with two major items on the agenda: Harry's report on his confrontation with Voldemort, and Severus Snape's report on the effects of the confrontation on Voldemort himself.

Harry spoke first, and his tone was subdued as he described the impressions he had of the spell he was attacked with, and explained how he had realized why Voldemort was having trouble getting hold of his mind, followed by his plan to counterattack. Harry was watching Dumbledore as he spoke, and he did not see Snape's eyes widen, then focus on Harry with a hint of something that might have been genuine respect. By the time Harry finished and turned his gaze in Snape's direction, the potion master's expression was back to his customary sneer. Harry sighed in irritation and concluded, "You know the rest, Professor Dumbledore."

"I do indeed, Harry—and thank you for that concise report." Harry nodded and sat down, and was somewhat surprised when he was not asked to leave. Dumbledore turned to Snape and asked, "Severus—does Harry's report cast any new light on your observations?"

"It explains how the Dark Lord was taken by surprise, Albus. Obviously, I do not have the gift myself, but I have read extensively on the subject of Parseltongue, and all of the literature on the subject that contains the accounts of Parselmouths suggests that it is not always obvious to them whether they are hearing Parseltongue or their own primary human language. The physical evidence I saw in the ritual room suggests that he realized what was happening in the last instant, but could not disrupt the ritual fast enough to save himself. He paid dearly for that lapse." Dumbledore nodded in understanding, and Snape continued, "Estimates of this sort are always inexact, of course, but I would guess that the anti-Cruciatus potion drained two-thirds of his magical power in healing him, along with the attendant loss of most of his self-Transfiguration. That amount of magic drain would be enough to turn almost any other wizard or witch into a Squib—permanently. In his case, I would estimate that it will take him four to six months in isolation to build his strength back to where it was and to restore his body to its state before the confrontation." Snape sighed, then concluded, "While obviously things will not be totally safe, they are bound to be far more quiet during that time—until he is back to full health and begins to seek his revenge for his convalescence, determined not to repeat his mistake."

"Professor Dumbledore." Dumbledore turned to Harry, surprised at the interruption, and saw that Harry looked very pale and a bit depressed. "May I be excused? I believe I need to lie down for a while."

"Of course, Harry—we'll talk later about anything you need to know from the rest of the meeting." Harry nodded and left, and Dumbledore sighed inwardly before turning back to Snape and saying, "Severus, please continue—"

"What's wrong with Harry?" Tonks was looking at the closed entrance door in concern. "He should be on top of the world right now, after everything he's done."

"Time heals all wounds, Nymphadora, but they also allow our triumphs to fade into memory." Dumbledore's voice was sad as he shook his head and looked at the closed door. "Harry knows he has done great good in recent days, on many levels, and his new relationship with Hermione will undoubtedly be a great comfort to him in the days to come. However, Severus' report has brought home a rather unpleasant fact to Harry—as magnificent and inspired as his defeat of Voldemort was, it is again but temporary, and Harry will once again be faced with an implacable foe who seeks his destruction and the destruction of all he cares about. He has more support in that fight than he has ever had before, but ultimately it is a burden he will have to bear on his own. He needs encouragement—and something to give him hope, as he has given all of us hope."

"Then perhaps we should give him that hope, Albus—and I believe I can suggest a ready means of doing so." Snape's words caused everyone in the room to blink, then stare at the Hogwarts Potions Master. Snape sighed in mild annoyance and snapped, "Look—I'm going to have to put up with the boy in my NEWT potions class. Do you think that I want to deal with him moping around, or engaged in displays of public affection with Granger as a means of mood control?"

No one snickered, but the looks being directed at Snape by his fellow Order members suggested that they were not accepting his explanation. Dumbledore quickly rescued him: "Very well then, Severus—I approve of your suggestion and note that it is offered as a means of promoting classroom harmony and proper decorum among our students. I believe we can arrange for an appropriate evening in the near future to bring your plan into being, once I check the schedules of a few people." Snape nodded, and Dumbledore smiled as he repeated: "Severus—please continue your report."

* * *

Harry sat at his desk, scowling at the formula for a bone-growing potion. It was August 20th, and he was reviewing again while he had the time in a location where he would not be bothered by curious classmates. His friends had all gone home, and even Hermione only came by every couple of days.

There had been a rather good piece of news just a few days before. Thanks to the positive publicity resulting from Harry's use of the Patronus Charm to drive off Voldemort, as well as Harry's own words before the game, Professor Dumbledore had been able to talk the Hogwarts Board of Governors into letting him re-hire Remus Lupin as the new Defense Against Dark Arts professor, and Fudge—desperate to stay on Harry and Dumbledore's good sides—had promised to lend his public support to the choice.

Harry was still gradually going through the mail he had received in the immediate aftermath of the match, and only the efforts of his friends in sifting out the more frivolous letters had made the burden bearable. A few of them had been personal—congratulations from friends who had been unable to attend the match, and others had been news that directly resulted from the match: Lee Jordan had received three job offers from professional Quidditch teams to announce their games, and Harry himself had received twenty offers to start at Seeker for various teams—exceeding even David Robinson's predictions.

But most of the mail was simple "thank you" notes from all over the world, and they touched Harry deeply. Unfortunately, they also reminded him of the burden he still bore, and of the enemy who was gaining strength daily. His scar remained pain-free, and he was not having nightmares—and the blessed relief only reminded him more that the state of affairs was a transient one—and that he would soon be facing an angry and vengeful foe at the height of his power. He redoubled his study efforts, and trained ruthlessly, but the sense of impending doom never quite left him, and he impatiently rejected all efforts to find out what was bothering him—even by Hermione. He would train, and he would study, and he would deal with the menace when it came. . .and he would try to keep the news of deaths that he knew would be coming one day soon from ripping him apart.

Hermione's voice brought him out of his dark musings: "Harry—come downstairs for a moment: there's someone here who would like to meet you."

Harry turned to Hermione, and saw a smile on her face. He was somewhat annoyed: the events of August 8th had brought a lot of people out of the woodwork who wanted to contribute generously to the cause, and most of them wanted to meet the famous Harry Potter before doing so. Harry had talked with Dumbledore and agreed to meet with large donors—the match itself had ended up raising well over a million galleons, and five million more had come in from other sources since then—but he wasn't thrilled about being on display. He sighed and took Hermione's offered hand as she led him from the room and downstairs.

Harry noticed that a lot of people seemed to be there—he had been so preoccupied by his studies that he hadn't heard the telltale sounds of arriving guests. He frowned at Hermione and whispered, "I know that you all have been trying to cheer me up, Hermione, but I'm not in the mood for a par—" He saw Neville, and the persons standing on either side of him, and he froze in his tracks and stared. After the events of the past month, Harry thought that he was beyond shock, but he was not.

Standing at Neville's right side was a tall, powerful-looking man with medium length dark hair and dark eyes that were watching Harry with interest. The woman standing at Neville's left side was a couple of inches shorter than Neville, and had dark hair, a round friendly face, and warm eyes that looked at Harry with unmistakable affection. Harry shivered, and Alice Longbottom said softly:

"Hello, Harry—we've waited a long time to see you again."

Harry felt a surge of disbelief, and he was about to accuse everyone in the room of perpetuating a sick joke when he saw Neville's expression. He had seen his friend in many emotional states, but the look of utter peace and contentment on Neville Longbottom's face was something he had never seen before, and it convinced him of the reality of what he was seeing. Hermione squeezed his hand in support, and he squeezed back as he walked forward until he was standing directly in front of Alice Longbottom. He thought irreverently that if he were asked to produce a Patronus at this moment, it would make the one that he produced at the match look like a fawn. His eyes shone, but he managed to stand up straight and look into Alice Longbottom's eyes as his friends watched, and whispered:

"I'm terribly glad to see you both."

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I didn't begin this with a sequel in mind, but I obviously left a lot of loose ends here. We'll see what the future holds. . .

The final dive for the Snitch between Harry and Viktor was inspired by the spectacular finish of the men's 100 meter butterfly final at the 2004 Summer Olympics, where Michael Phelps beat world record holder Ian Crocker in a finish that seemed to defy physics, and which could only be appreciated in extreme slow motion. I wrote an article about that race titled simply "Magic," and it certainly seemed like fertile ground to draw on for inspiration for this story.

As always, comments are welcomed and desired


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